Jeremiahs Scriptures (Supplements to the Journal for the Study of Judaism, 173) 9004320245, 9789004320246

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Jeremiah’s Scriptures

Supplements to the Journal for the Study of Judaism Editor Benjamin G. Wright, III (Department of Religion Studies, Lehigh University) Associate Editors Hindy Najman (Theology & Religion Faculty, University of Oxford) Eibert J.C. Tigchelaar (Faculty of Theology and Religious Studies, KU Leuven) Advisory Board A.M. Berlin – K. Berthelot – R. Bloch J.J. Collins – K. Hogan – O. Irshai – S. Kattan Gribetz A.K. Petersen – S. Mason – J.H. Newman – M. Popović I. Rosen-Zvi – J.T.A.G.M. van Ruiten – M. Segal – J. Sievers W. Smelik – G. Stemberger – L.T. Stuckenbruck – J.C. de Vos

VOLUME 173

The titles published in this series are listed at brill.com/jsjs

Jeremiah’s Scriptures Production, Reception, Interaction, and Transformation

Edited by

Hindy Najman and Konrad Schmid

LEIDEN | BOSTON

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Najman, Hindy, editor. Title: Jeremiah’s scriptures : production, reception, interaction, and transformation /  edited by Hindy Najman and Konrad Schmid. Description: Leiden ; Boston : Brill, 2016. | Series: Supplements to the Journal for  the study of Judaism, ISSN 1384-2161 ; volume 173 | Includes index. Identifiers: LCCN 2016019219 (print) | LCCN 2016020778 (ebook) |  ISBN 9789004320246 (hardback : alk. paper) | ISBN 9789004320253 (E-book) Subjects: LCSH: Bible. Jeremiah—Criticism, interpretation, etc. Classification: LCC BS1525.52 .J46 2016 (print) | LCC BS1525.52 (ebook) |  DDC 224/.206—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2016019219

Typeface for the Latin, Greek, and Cyrillic scripts: “Brill”. See and download: brill.com/brill-typeface. issn 1384-2161 isbn 978-90-04-32024-6 (hardback) isbn 978-90-04-32025-3 (e-book) Copyright 2017 by Koninklijke Brill nv, Leiden, The Netherlands. Koninklijke Brill NV incorporates the imprints Brill, Brill Hes & De Graaf, Brill Nijhoff, Brill Rodopi and Hotei Publishing. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, translated, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission from the publisher. Authorization to photocopy items for internal or personal use is granted by Koninklijke Brill nv provided that the appropriate fees are paid directly to The Copyright Clearance Center, 222 Rosewood Drive, Suite 910, Danvers, ma 01923, usa. Fees are subject to change. This book is printed on acid-free paper and produced in a sustainable manner.

Contents Preface xi Part 1

Hebrew Bible 1 Exegesis, Expansion, and Tradition-Making in the Book of Jeremiah 3 Robert R. Wilson 2 A New Understanding of the Book of Jeremiah. A Response to Robert R. Wilson 22 Georg Fischer 3 Ancient Editing and the Coherence of Traditions within the Book of Jeremiah and throughout the ‫נביאים‬. A Response to Robert R. Wilson 44 Florian Lippke 4 Prophets, Princes, and Kings: Prophecy and Prophetic Books according to Jeremiah 36 70 Friedhelm Hartenstein 5 King Jehoiakim’s Attempt to Destroy the Written Word of God (Jeremiah 36). A Response to Friedhelm Hartenstein 92 Lida Panov 6 Scribal Loyalty and the Burning of the Scroll in Jeremiah 36. A Response to Friedhelm Hartenstein 98 Justin J. White 7 The Nature of Deutero-Jeremianic Texts 103 Christl M. Maier 8 The “Deuteronomistic” Character of the Book of Jeremiah. A Response to Christl M. Maier 124 Thomas Römer 9 A Gap between Style and Context? A Response to Christl M. Maier 132 Laura Carlson 10 Deutero-Jeremianic Language in the Temple Sermon. A Response to Christl M. Maier 135 William L. Kelly

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11 Formulaic Language and the Formation of the Book of Jeremiah 145 Hermann-Josef Stipp 12 Mysteries of the Book of Jeremiah: Its Text and Formulaic Language. A Response to Hermann-Josef Stipp 166 Georg Fischer 13 What Does “Deuteronomistic” Designate? A Response to Hermann-Josef Stipp 186 Elisa Uusimäki 14 Less than 300 Years. A Response to Hermann-Josef Stipp 191 Fabian Kuhn 15 Why Jeremiah? The Invention of a Prophetic Figure 197 Reinhard G. Kratz 16 Was Jeremiah Invented? The Relation of an Author to a Literary Tradition. A Response to Reinhard G. Kratz 213 Bernard M. Levinson 17 The Question of Prophetic “Authenticity.” A Response to Reinhard G. Kratz 222 Olivia Stewart 18 Jeremiah: The Prophet and the Concept. A Response to Reinhard G. Kratz 225 Zafer Tayseer Mohammad Part 2

Ancient Jewish Literature 19 Confessing in Exile: The Reception and Composition of Jeremiah in (Daniel and) Baruch 231 Judith H. Newman 20 Scribal Culture of the Hebrew Bible and the Burden of the Canon: Human Agency and Textual Production and Consumption in Ancient Judaism. A Response to Judith H. Newman 253 Mladen Popović 21 The Meanings of the Jerusalem Temple in Baruch. A Response to Judith H. Newman 259 Zhenshuai Jiang 22 Text Reception and Conceptions of Authority in Second Temple Contexts. A Response to Judith H. Newman 263 Phillip M. Lasater

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23 The Use and Function of Jeremianic Tradition in 1 Enoch: The Epistle of Enoch in Focus 268 Loren T. Stuckenbruck 24 Jeremiah, Deuteronomy and Enoch. A Response to Loren T. Stuckenbruck 280 John J. Collins 25 Is Enoch also among the (Jeremianic) Prophets? A Response to Loren T. Stuckenbruck 286 Ryan C. Stoner 26 Jeremiah’s Scriptures in the Dead Sea Scrolls and the Growth of a Tradition 289 Eibert Tigchelaar 27 Modelling Jeremiah Traditions in the Light of the Dead Sea Scrolls. A Response to Eibert Tigchelaar 307 George J. Brooke 28 New Material or Traditions Expanded? A Response to Eibert Tigchelaar 319 Anja Klein 29 Unities and Boundaries across the Jeremianic Dead Sea Scrolls. A Response to Eibert Tigchelaar 327 James Nati 30 Jeremiah, Baruch, and Their Books: Three Phases in a Changing Relationship 330 Matthias Henze and Liv Ingeborg Lied 31 The Reception of a Reception: The Influence of 1 Baruch on the Structure of 5 Ezra. A Response to Matthias Henze and Liv Ingeborg Lied 354 Veronika Hirschberger 32 Textual and Material Contexts. A Response to Matthias Henze and Liv Ingeborg Lied 369 Nathalie LaCoste 33 Retelling the Story of Exile: The Reception of the Jeremiah Tradition in 4 Baruch in the Perspective of the Jewish Diaspora 373 Jens Herzer 34 The Eagle and the Basket of Figs in 4 Baruch. A Response to Jens Herzer 392 Robin D. Young

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35 The Development of the Jeremiah Figure in 2 Baruch and 4 Baruch. A Response to Jens Herzer 398 Boyeon Briana Lee 36 Jeremiah as Mystagogue: Jeremiah in Philo of Alexandria 417 Gregory E. Sterling 37 Philo and Jeremiah: A Mysterious Passage in De Cherubim. A Response to Gregory E. Sterling 431 René Bloch 38 Jeremiah as Hierophant: Jeremiah in Philo of Alexandria. A Response to Gregory E. Sterling 443 Franz Tóth 39 “I am the Man”: The Afterlife of a Biblical Verse in Second Temple Times 470 James Kugel Part 3

Early Christian and Rabbinic Literature 40 The Reception of Jeremiah and the Impact of Jeremianic Traditions in the New Testament: A Survey 499 Jörg Frey 41 Jeremiah in the Book of Revelation. A Response to Jörg Frey 523 Adela Yarbro Collins 42 The Jeremianic Covenant Theology and its Impact in the Gospel of Matthew. A Response to Jörg Frey 532 Veronika Niederhofer 43 The Commissioning of Paul: Light from the Prophet Jeremiah on the Self-Understanding of the Apostle? 544 Lutz Doering 44 The Apostle Paul in the Prophetic Matrix of Jeremiah. A Response to Lutz Doering 566 Kipp Davis 45 Like a Priest Exposing His Own Wayward Mother: Jeremiah in Rabbinic Literature 570 Ishay Rosen-Zvi

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46 Jeremiah in Rabbinic Theology and Baruch in Rabbinic Historiography. A Response to Ishay Rosen-Zvi 591 Shlomo Zuckier 47 Probing the Rabbis’ Criticism and Silence with Regard to Jeremiah. A Response to Ishay Rosen-Zvi 608 Jordash Kiffiak Author Index 615 Ancient Sources Index 619 Subject Index 630

Preface In June of 2014, over sixty students, post-doctoral fellows, and professors from Europe (Switzerland, Germany, Belgium, Hungary, the Netherlands, Norway, England and Scotland), Canada, Israel, and the United States gathered to discuss the achievement, the legacy, and the reception of the prophet Jeremiah and the prophetic collection attributed to Jeremiah and his scribe, Baruch. There were two inspirations for our meeting, one related to us spatially, the other temporally. We met at Monte Verità, Switzerland, not far from Ascona, where the famous annual Eranos meetings began in 1933 that eventually were also held on Monte Verità. Great thinkers about religion and spirituality—such as Henri Corbin, Mircea Eliade, Carl Gustav Jung, Karl Kerényi, Rudolf Otto and Gershom Scholem—had been involved in Eranos meetings. In addition, our conference took place exactly a century after the publication of Sigmund Mowinckel’s Zur Komposition des Buches Jeremia (Kristiania 1914), an influential source-critical contribution to Jeremiah studies. With these two very different approaches in mind—the spiritual and the philological—we gathered to reflect on the vitality and the dynamic afterlife of ancient Jewish traditions and texts. It has become increasingly clear that the book of Jeremiah is an interpretive text that grew over several centuries by means of extensive redactional activities on the part of its tradents. Jeremiah 36:32 even reports explicitly that the book of Jeremiah is an expanded text. The book of Jeremiah also claims to contain several smaller “books” (cf. Jer 29; 30–31; 36; 50–51), some of which may indeed have once existed as independent units, such as, for instance, Jeremiah’s letter to the exiled community in Babylonia (Jer 29), while others, such as Jer 30–31, may be literary constructs. In addition to the books within the book of Jeremiah, other books associated with Jeremiah or Baruch were also generated. All the aforementioned texts constitute what we call “Jeremiah’s Scriptures” and what has become the topic of our conference and the present volume. We aspire to engage recent scholarship that has advanced source and redaction criticism of the book of Jeremiah and related Baruch and Jeremianic traditions. However, source and redaction-critical analysis are only two of a number of possible historical approaches to the Jeremiah material. There are vital traditions about Jeremiah within, but also outside of the book that bears his name. Accordingly, the conference also considered the history of reception and the growth of tradition—biblical and para-biblical—as aspects of the expansion of the earlier sources within and beyond the book of Jeremiah. Thus, this volume includes a discussion of the literary growth of the book of Jeremiah, but

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not in a way that is limited to the study of that biblical book alone. The contributions of this volume also investigate the ancient readers of Jeremiah, their interpretive strategies, and their self-presentations. How are we to assess the interpretation and use of Jeremianic materials in ancient Judaism and early Christianity? How are we to categorize texts that use Jeremianic materials or have a “Jeremianic style” without any explicit mention of Jeremiah? How should we categorize traditions that are ascribed to Jeremiah or Baruch? We hope to have developed a new understanding of the interpretive processes that characterizes the reception and interpretation of Jeremiah’s scriptures in antiquity. The contributions cover the most important texts for these questions, such as the biblical book of Jeremiah, its ancient Greek translation, the different books ascribed to Baruch, the scribe associated with Jeremiah in the biblical tradition, Daniel, the Dead Sea Scrolls, Paul’s letters in the New Testament, the Revelation of John, Philo, and some selected rabbinic texts. This volume thus approaches “Jeremiah’s Scriptures” from the distinct perspectives of a variety of biblical and ancient Jewish sub-fields. One of our goals is thereby to challenge the current fragmentation of the fields of theology, biblical studies, and ancient Judaism. We gather not only the main papers from the conference, but also the numerous responses to them. This approach enables us to memorialize the dynamic conversation that continued throughout the conference and afterwards. We are also delighted to integrate the contributions of younger colleagues into the volume. We feel that the future of biblical studies depends upon these new voices and upon the conversation begun at Ascona around Jeremiah and his legacy. We thank the Graduate Campus of the University of Zurich, the Centro Stefano Franscini (CSF) at Ascona, the Federal Institute of Technology (ETH), the Swiss National Science Foundation (SNF), and the Thyssen Foundation for their generous support of the conference. In addition, we are grateful to Lida Panov for her help in preparing the conference, to Dr. Peter Altmann for copyediting the manuscripts, and to Samuel Arnet for compiling the indexes for this publication. Finally, many thanks to Benjamin Wright for including our volume in the esteemed Journal for the Study of Judaism Supplement Series. Hindy Najman and Konrad Schmid

Oxford and Zurich, August 2016

Part 1 Hebrew Bible

∵

chapter 1

Exegesis, Expansion, and Tradition-Making in the Book of Jeremiah Robert R. Wilson In the precritical period, almost all interpreters understood the book of Jeremiah to be the work of the original prophet or his associates and to reflect the historical periods indicated by the book’s dates. At the same time, interpreters recognized that the book included an unusually large number of literary styles not usually found in the Bible’s prophetic books. In addition to the expected poetic oracles of judgment and promise, Jeremiah contains occasional brief prose passages that deal with the same subjects as the surrounding poetry; more extensive exhortatory or didactic prose passages, sometimes misleadingly called sermons; prose passages that describe the prophet’s activities, sometimes misleadingly called biographies; narrative descriptions of events that do not mention the prophet directly; first-person poetic laments or complaints in which the prophet is the speaker; reports of symbolic prophetic actions; and first-person poetic references to the prophet’s feelings or emotions, often in the context of apparent dialogues between the prophet and the deity or between the prophet and the people (or both). Taken as a whole, this wealth of literary material encouraged early interpreters of Jeremiah to conclude that the book contains an unparalleled picture of the prophet’s times, message, and activities and even a rare insight into his private thoughts, experiences, and feelings. Within the biblical period itself, all of the literary materials in the book seem to have attracted the attention of later writers.1 Jeremiah’s prediction of the end of the exile after seventy years (Jer 25:11–12; 29:10) was accepted as true by the writers of 2 Chr 36:22 and Ezra 1:1 and was reinterpreted by the writers of Dan 9. The prophet’s laments were taken to be characteristic of his behavior and led later biblical writers to attribute to him the authorship of the book of Lamentations (Lam 1:1 LXX), as well as a lament over King Josiah (2 Chr 35:25). The narratives of Jeremiah’s conflicts with the people and the aristocracy of 1  For a brief survey of precritical scholarship on Jeremiah, see Armin Siedlecki, “Jeremiah, Book of (Interpretation Through the 19th Century),” in Dictionary of Biblical Interpretation (ed. John H. Hayes; 2 vols.; Nashville: Abingdon, 1999), 1:564–70.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���7 | doi ��.��63/9789004320253_002

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his time were accepted by later writers as an adequate explanation for the fate that befell them (2 Chr 36:12; cf. Sir 49:6–7). Similar themes appear in later literature from the Second Temple period, when Jeremiah seems to have stimulated the creation of a number of new literary works. With the rise of critical biblical scholarship, however, scholars began to see the literary variety in Jeremiah not so much as a rich picture of the prophet’s life and times but as clues to the book’s literary history. William Lowth’s commentary of 1718, for example, proposes that the book is composed of several different collections of literary materials, only some of which actually came from the prophet himself. Other materials came from the scribe Baruch or from later writers, perhaps Ezra.2 A similar approach is taken by the commentary of Benjamin Blayney (1784), who revives an earlier scholarly interest in comparing the Greek and Hebrew texts of the book. Under the influence of Robert Lowth, Blayney also calls attention to the poetic character of the prophet’s oracles and tries to reflect the Hebrew poetic style in his own English translation. He also sounds a note that would become ever more common in the twentieth century. Blayney understands the differences between the Hebrew and Greek texts as an indication of the complex literary history of Jeremiah and further suggests that the disorderly arrangement of literary materials in the book was due to accidental disturbances of the original text.3 Various scholars of the early nineteenth century accepted the idea that Jeremiah was composed of several different literary blocks, but there was little agreement on the number or contents of the collections or the process by which they grew into our present Hebrew text. By the beginning of the twentieth century, however, the seminal work of Bernhard Duhm and Sigmund Mowinckel supplied models for the book’s literary growth that would influence scholarship for much of the rest of the century. Duhm, in his commentary on Jeremiah, analyzes the book as containing three sorts of literary materials, each having a different origin. The prophet’s original oracles of judgment and promise were in poetic form and often reflected the so-called qinah meter associated with Hebrew laments. Duhm locates this poetic material primarily in Jer 2–5 and 30–31, but he also assigns to the prophet the more fully developed poetic laments in Jer 11–20. In addition to about 280 verses of genuinely Jeremianic poetic oracles, Duhm isolates about 220 verses of third-person narrative about the activities and trials of Jeremiah. This material was the contribution of the scribe Baruch and is to be found primarily in Jer 26–29 and 32–45. 2  William Lowth, Commentary upon the Prophecy and Lamentations of Jeremiah (London: R. Knaplock and H. Clements, 1718). 3  Benjamin Blayney, Jeremiah and Lamentations (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1784), 3.

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The rest of the book, about 850 verses, comes from a much later period and deals with the problems that the original prophecies raised for the postexilic Judean community.4 Mowinckel further refined Duhm’s analysis of the book. Approaching Jeremiah against the background of Hermann Gunkel’s theory of form criticism, Mowinckel notes that the oracles of Jeremiah, as we have them, do not often resemble oral literature. This observation, together with the recognition of so many diverse literary types and duplicate passages in the book, led Mowinckel to the conclusion that the book was an editorial composition formed through the combination of four pre-existing written sources. The first source (A) is found in Jer 1–23 (25) and was originally a free-standing collection of mostly poetic materials of mixed genres. The poetic materials are likely to have originated with the prophet himself, although the collection as it now appears shows signs of having been made up of smaller written units and contains some later expansions. A second source (B) is now found mostly in Jer 26–44, with transitional editorial material appearing in 19:1–20:6. B consists of stories about the prophet’s activities and his role in the history and politics of Judah. In contrast to Duhm, Mowinckel did not think that this material was composed by Baruch but rather suggested that Baruch may have collected legends and tales about the prophet and then arranged them in their present form. The third written source in the book (C) consists of prose speeches that have been added throughout the book at a late date and that are Deuteronomistic in language and in theology. Finally, a short collection of promise oracles (D) has been added in Jer 30–31. It is clear, then, that for Mowinckel Jeremiah is an editorial product, which grew through the combination of pre-existing written documents in the order A, B, C, and D.5 Although Mowinckel would later modify his approach somewhat by taking into account tradition-historical approaches,6 it is his earlier formulation of the composition history that came to dominate scholarly debate for much of the twentieth century. In large part, later research can be understood as addressing questions left unanswered by Mowinckel’s original work. Among these questions, the most important concerned first, the literary history of A, with its mixture of poetic and prose materials, and the relationship of these materials, if any, to the original oracles of the prophet; second, the relationship between B and A; third, the origin and function of the C additions to both A

4  Bernhard Duhm, Das Buch Jeremiah (KHC 11; Tübingen: Mohr, 1901), xii–xxi. 5  Sigmund Mowinckel, Zur Komposition des Buches Jeremia (Oslo: Jacob Dybwad, 1914). 6  Sigmund Mowinckel, Prophecy and Tradition (Oslo: Jacob Dybwad, 1946).

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and B; and, finally, the accuracy of Mowinckel’s overall model for the editorial history of the book. By the middle of the twentieth century, efforts to refine Mowinckel’s model had begun to create an increasingly complex body of scholarship, most of it focusing on the question of the origins of the various poetic and prose materials and the relations among them.7 Mowinckel’s notion that A, B, and C were originally independent written sources was generally rejected in favor of considering at least B and C to have been created specifically for the purpose of expanding an earlier collection of the prophet’s oracles (A). At the same time, several careful studies of the vocabulary and themes in this material suggested that Deuteronomistic language and motifs are to be found not only in C but in A and B as well. However, this state of affairs was understood by scholars in different ways. Some scholars understood the similarities in language simply to point to a common type of Hebrew that was in use during the sixth century. It was not particularly Deuteronomistic at all, but simply represented a dialect in common use at the time A, B, and C were created. Thus it was possible to interpret A and C as poetic and prosaic speech from Jeremiah himself and to see B as coming from the same historical and cultural setting.8 Other scholars drew the opposite conclusion and argued that C was indeed Deuteronomistic and probably to be dated at least as late as the exile, if not later. The appearance of Deuteronomistic language and motifs in A and B should therefore be understood to imply major Deuteronomistic editorial activity in these sources and to suggest a date later than the one usually assigned to the prophet.9 A reaction against both of these lines of argument can be seen in the work of Robert Carroll, who agrees that the Book of Jeremiah grew slowly over time but who argued that nothing can be said with certainty about the compositional process involved or about the dates of particular literary develop7  For a discussion of these developments, see Leo G. Perdue, “Jeremiah in Modern Research: Approaches and Issues,” in A Prophet to the Nations: Essays in Jeremiah Studies (ed. Leo G. Perdue and Brian W. Kovacs; Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 1984), 1–32; and William McKane, “Jeremiah, Book of (Twentieth-Century Interpretation),” in Dictionary of Biblical Interpretation, 1:570–74. 8  John Bright, “The Date of the Prose Sermons of Jeremiah,” JBL 70 (1951): 15–35; Helga Weippert, Die Prosareden des Jeremiabuches (BZAW 132; Berlin: De Gruyter, 1973). 9  J. Philip Hyatt, “The Deuteronomic Edition of Jeremiah,” Vanderbilt Studies in the Humanities 1 (1951): 71–95; Ernest W. Nicholson, Preaching to the Exiles: A Study of the Prose Tradition in the Book of Jeremiah (Oxford: Blackwell, 1970); Winfried Thiel, Die deuteronomistische Redaktion von Jeremia 1–25 (WMANT 41; Neukichen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1973); Winfried Thiel, Die deuteronomistische Redaktion von Jeremia 26-45 (WMANT 52; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1981).

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ments. For Carroll, therefore, the historical Jeremiah and his oracles could no longer be recovered, and the book that is associated with him could only be studied as a literary work in isolation from its original historical and cultural setting.10 Although Carroll’s approach had a dampening effect on scholarly efforts to sketch the book’s literary history, it also served as a corrective to the increasing fragmentation of the literary materials of the book that had begun with Duhm and Mowinckel. For Duhm, the poetic material alone reflects the work of Jeremiah, while the various prose materials, coming from other later authors, have little relationship to the original prophetic revelation. The same sort of fragmentation is implied in the work of Mowinckel, who locates original Jeremianic material only in his A source. The stories about the prophet in the B source are later and already legends, having little if any connection to the prophet’s original words, while the C prose units reflect the agenda of the Deuteronomistic writers and have nothing to do with the original revelation. When Carroll argues against attempting to reconstruct the book’s literary history, he also stresses the importance of studying the relationship of all of the book’s literary materials to each other. The poetry and the various types of prose should no longer be treated in isolation but should be seen as related to each other in some way. Against the background of the conflicting scholarly currents of the late twentieth century, contemporary Jeremiah studies are understandably complex. However, a recent survey of the present scene by Thomas Römer helpfully characterizes the major approaches being taken and will also allow us to suggest some directions for future research.11 First, it must be recognized that some scholars, particularly in the United States, are still following versions of the approaches sketched out by Duhm and Mowinckel. There is still an interest in uncovering in the book’s poetry the original words of the prophet, and the narratives of the prophet’s activities are understood as more or less accurate descriptions of events. The didactic prose is still seen as Deuteronomistic and probably unrelated to materials in the rest of the book. However, even in the United States, this approach is becoming increasingly rare.12 10  Robert P. Carroll, “Surplus Meaning and the Conflict of Interpretations: A Dodecade of Jeremiah Studies (1984–95),” CurBS 4 (1996): 115–59; Robert P. Carroll, “Century’s End: Jeremiah Studies at the Beginning of the Third Millennium,” CurBS 8 (2000): 18–58. 11  Thomas Römer, “Du livre au prophète: Stratégies rédactionnelles dans le rouleau prémassorétique de Jérémie,” in Les recueils prophétiques de la Bible (ed. Jean-Daniel Macchi et al.; Geneva: Labor et Fides, 2012), 255–82. 12  See, for example, Mark Leuchter, Josiah’s Reform and Jeremiah’s Scroll: Historical Calamity and Prophetic Response (Sheffield: Phoenix, 2006); Mark Leuchter, The Polemics of Exile

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Second, some scholars have heeded the cautions of Carroll and concentrated on producing various types of holistic readings that pay careful attention to the way in which the book’s various types of literary materials relate to each other.13 This approach is an important contribution because it provides a better understanding of how prose units of various kinds relate to adjacent blocks of poetry and also how more widely separated units of the present book might be connected. This sort of work thus helps to counter the tendency toward fragmentation that has so long characterized Jeremiah research. Third, scholars are increasingly seeing throughout the book one or more Deuteronomistic editions.14 Such editorial layers are usually thought to introduce both Deuteronomistic vocabulary and theology into the book and are often believed to represent a point of view quite different from that of the original prophet, although such a conclusion is not necessarily an obvious one. As an alternative, one could, for example, take seriously Jeremiah’s biographical information at the beginning of the book and try to locate the prophet within a branch of the Deuteronomistic movement, although such a move is still controversial.15 Although many scholars are now seeing Deuteronomistic influence in all sections of the book, this approach is not without its difficulties. Like all efforts at identifying Deuteronomistic influence in the Hebrew Bible, Jeremiah scholars have had difficulty agreeing on the linguistic and theological markers of Deuteronomism.16 On the linguistic side, there does in Jeremiah 26–45 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008); and Jack R. Lundbom, Jeremiah Closer Up (Sheffield: Phoenix, 2010). 13  Louis Stulman, Order amid Chaos: Jeremiah as Symbolic Tapestry (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1998); Georg Fischer, Jeremia 1–25 (HthKAT; Freiburg: Herder, 2005); Georg Fischer, Jeremia 26–52 (HthKAT; Freiburg: Herder, 2005). 14  For a survey of scholars taking this position, see Römer, Du livre au prophète, 257–63 and the literature cited there. Römer himself favors this approach and believes that the book of Jeremiah was created in the Persian period by Deuteronomistic scribes in order to make it part of a larger Deuteronomistic collection of books. See his remarks in “The Formation of the Book of Jeremiah as a Supplement to the So-called Deuteronomistic History,” in The Production of Prophecy: Constructing Prophecy and Prophets in Yehud (ed. Diana V. Edelman and Ehud Ben Zvi; London: Equinox, 2009), 168–83. 15  For an effort at locating the prophet in this way, see S. Dean McBride, Jr., “Jeremiah and the Levitical Priests of Anatoth,” in Thus Says the Lord: Essays on the Former and Latter Prophets in Honor of Robert R. Wilson (ed. John J. Ahn and Stephen L. Cook; New York: T&T Clark, 2009), 179–96. 16  I have discussed these issues elsewhere in Robert R. Wilson, “Who Was the Deuteronomist? (Who Was Not the Deuteronomist?): Reflections on Pan-Deuteronomism,” in Those Elusive Deuteronomists: The Phenomenon of Pan-Deuteronomism (ed. Linda S. Schearing and Steven L. McKenzie; JSOTSup 268; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1999), 67–82.

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seem to be some consensus on a core collection of words and phrases that are shared with other biblical books generally thought to be Deuteronomistic, but beyond this core, there is still a good bit of uncertainty. On the basis of these linguistic markers, it appears that the didactic prose and the narrative prose exhibit different degrees of Deuteronomistic influence, a conclusion that seems to be in line with the observation that the Hebrew text underlying the MT exhibits more Deuteronomistic linguistic items than does the Hebrew text underlying the LXX.17 This fact suggests that Deuteronomistic editing of Jeremiah may have taken place over a longer period of time than has usually been thought or that the editing of the two Hebrew text traditions took place in different geographic areas (or both). On the theological side, Deuteronomistic theology seems to have been multifaceted, with a number of different theological interests, only some of which are represented in Jeremiah. This has given rise to controversies about what Deuteronomistic writers might have been trying to achieve when they worked on Jeremiah and raises the possibility that they may not have had only one goal in mind but several goals at the same time. In spite of these difficulties, however, it is likely that Deuteronomistic influence is present throughout the book, and for this reason much additional work remains to be done in order to understand how this particular kind of material functions. Finally, a number of scholars have seen at work in Jeremiah the phenomenon of what in German is called “Fortschreibung.” An adequate English equivalent for this word is hard to find, but scholars who use the German term usually have in mind a process of rewriting or rereading.18 Fortschreibung is thus best understood as a form of interpretation of an existing text in order to apply that text to the issues, experiences, and perceptions of a later community. During this process the original text is both reread (interpreted) and rewritten in the form of changes made to the original text or in the form of a new text written as a continuation of and supplement to the earlier text. The simplest example of this process is what McKane originally had in mind when he characterized 17  On this point, see Michael J. Williams, “An Investigation of the Legitimacy of Source Distinctions for the Prose Material in Jeremiah,” JBL 112 (1993): 193–210. For a discussion of Deuteronomistic additions in the MT in comparison to the LXX, see Louis Stulman, The Prose Sermons of the Book of Jeremiah: A Redescription of the Correspondences with the Deuteronomistic Literature in Light of Recent Text-Critical Research (SBLDS 83; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1986). 18  For a discussion of this problem, see Christoph Levin, Re-Reading the Scriptures: Essays on the Literary History of the Old Testament (FAT 87; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2013), VII–X. For a discussion of how Jeremiah scholars have applied the method, see Römer, Du livre au prophète, 259–60 and the literature cited there.

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the literary development of Jeremiah as a “rolling corpus.” As an alternative to compositional theories that suggested that the book grew through the addition of large blocks of prose material to an already existing poetic core, McKane proposed that individual small units of poetry were expanded through the addition of short prose passages, which comment on and interpret the surrounding poetry. Thus, for example, McKane argued that Jer 3:6–11 (prose) interprets 3:1–5 and 3:12–13 (adjacent poetry). According to his model, then, the function of these short prose additions to the book is exegetical. They share a function (interpretation) but were not necessarily part of a single editorial operation on the book. Rather the prose additions were made at various times in order to clarify preexisting poetic texts.19 Although McKane later decided that such prose exegeses could be added to preexisting prose units as well, he remained wedded to the theory that the prose commentary was always adjacent to the literary unit being interpreted.20 I suggest elsewhere that while such literary juxtaposition of poetry and prose is indeed to be found throughout Jeremiah, it might also be fruitful to explore the use of prose units to interpret and to comment on whole heterogeneous blocks of poetic material, as well as on poetic units that are not adjacent to the prose commentaries.21 A similar approach has recently been proposed in Ronnie Goldstein’s exploration of the biblical roots of some of the later extrabiblical traditions about Jeremiah. As part of this study, Goldstein argues that the stories about Jeremiah in Jer 37–40 show signs of exegetical expansion based on the reinterpretation of adjacent prose texts but also on the rereading of poetic texts in Jer 2–6. These expansions are Deuteronomistic in character but are not from the same hand as the didactic Deuteronomistic prose found primarily in Jer 1–25. Goldstein thus reinforces the claim of varying degrees of Deuteronomistic influence in the book but at the same time proposes that the new prose material has been generated exegetically out of the earlier poetry, a process that also seems to be at work in the later postbiblical Jeremiah

19  William McKane, “Relations Between Poetry and Prose in the Book of Jeremiah with Special Reference to Jeremiah iii 6-11 and xii 14-17,” in Congress Volume Vienna 1980 (ed. J. A. Emerton; VTSup 32; Leiden: Brill, 1981), 220–37. 20  William McKane, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Jeremiah (ICC; Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1986), 1:lxii–lxxxviii. 21  Robert R. Wilson, “Poetry and Prose in the Book of Jeremiah,” in Ki Baruch Hu: Ancient Near Eastern, Biblical, and Judaic Studies in Honor of Baruch A. Levine (ed. Robert Chazan et al.; Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 1999), 413–27.

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traditions.22 However that may be, the process of Fortschreibung suggests that the book of Jeremiah as a whole grew slowly over time through numerous changes and additions and through the work of numerous authors and editors concerned with the meaning of Jeremiah’s prophetic activity for their own time. Still, in focusing on the practical reasons for this sort of activity, scholars should not lose sight of the fundamental exegetical character of the enterprise. Additions and changes to the text may serve to update it, but that updating still involves the rereading of preexisting material in the gradually growing book. Although the four approaches to the literary growth of Jeremiah outlined above have distinctive ways of describing the process, it is important to recognize that the approaches themselves share some common features. All four of the approaches generally agree that the present book in some way develops from the original work of the prophet Jeremiah, although they display varying degrees of confidence in their ability to reconstruct the message and historical activities of the prophet. The three approaches that believe that it is possible to identify distinct literary expansions in the book agree that such expansions exist, but scholars differ in their assessment of the number and origin of the expansions. All four approaches recognize that Deuteronomistic influence is present throughout the book, but they do not agree on the question of whether other literary influences are present as well. Finally, all four of the approaches conclude that the book in its final form is the work of scribes, who over time have shaped the book’s poetic units and probably generated some of the various types of prose materials and perhaps some of the poetry. This interest in scribes and their work is a fairly recent development in the field of Jeremiah studies, and much more research still needs to be done on the topic. In particular, more clarity needs to be achieved on the questions of how and when a “scribal culture” developed in ancient Israel, who the scribes might have been, what their interests were, and how they went about their work. It is not possible here to engage in a detailed study of the role of scribes in ancient Israel, but a brief survey of recent research on this topic will suggest some avenues for future Jeremiah research. A convenient starting point for the modern debate on scribal activity is the work of Philip Davies. In Davies’s view, literacy was not common in ancient Israel, and for this reason scribal activity was primarily confined to specialists working in the royal court and in the temple. Written biblical texts therefore did not begin to appear until the Persian 22  Ronnie Goldstein, “Jeremiah between Destruction and Exile: From Biblical to PostBiblical Traditions,” DSD 20 (2013): 433–51.

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period or later, and even then they were the creation of elite scribal groups interested in advancing their own interests and those of the government and the religious establishment.23 In the case of prophetic literature such as Jeremiah, it is unlikely that the prophet wrote down any of his own oracles, but scribes eventually recorded prophetic activity and summarized it in letters sent to the ruling authorities. Some of this archival material might have been recopied and arranged in a collection of Jeremiah oracles, but the setting of the oracles into some sort of historical context was a much later phenomenon.24 Shortly after Davies began to write on scribal activity, William Schniedewind produced a more extensive study of the same topic. Although Schniedewind did not share Davies’s belief in the lack of literacy in preexilic Israel, he did share Davies’s conclusion that scribal activity was primarily at home in the temple and in the royal court. Biblical literature was initially created to support both of those institutions, although in the preexilic period the two were sometimes in conflict with each other, a fact reflected in the literature of the period. During the exile, scribes continued to support religious and political elites but also began to create religious literature explaining in religious terms why the political disasters of the exile had occurred. With the disappearance of the Davidic monarchy after the exile, scribes worked primarily in the service of the temple.25 Both of these descriptions of scribal activity are probably too narrow to be of much help in understanding the compositional history of Jeremiah. Davies’s idea that the oracles of the prophet might have been written down or summarized by scribes and then preserved in an official archive is certainly plausible, and there is in fact evidence for this process in Mesopotamian prophetic texts, but it is worth noting that Jeremiah’s poetic oracles in chs. 2–6 have little to say about the monarchy directly or about the temple. Both of these institutions do appear to be a concern of the narratives of prophetic activity in Jer 26–45, although the prophet is hardly supportive of either of them, and it is difficult 23  Philip R. Davies, Scribes and Schools: The Canonization of the Hebrew Scriptures (Louisville, Ky.: Westminster John Knox, 1998). 24  Philip R. Davies, “ ‘Pen of Iron, Point of Diamond’ (Jer. 17:1): Prophecy as Writing,” in Writings and Speech in Israelite and Ancient Near Eastern Prophecy (ed. Ehud Ben Zvi and Michael Hl Floyd; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2000), 65–81. 25   William M. Schniedewind, How the Bible Became a Book (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004). Note also the important study of David M. Carr, Writing on the Tablet of the Heart: Origins of Scripture and Literature (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005). Because Carr’s book focuses on oral transmission of scribal lore, it will not be considered here.

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to see why either the palace or the temple would want to preserve this sort of material. The same assessment applies to Schniedewind’s reconstruction of scribal culture. There is very little pro-temple or pro-monarchy material anywhere in Jeremiah, and Schniedewind’s model has difficulty accounting for the pictures of political and religious activity that emerge in the prose materials in the book. Both Davies and Schniedewind also incorrectly assume that scribes served only the institutions for which they worked, whereas extrabiblical evidence suggests that scribes in the ancient Near East had some autonomy to follow their own interests and on occasion to work for a variety of clients in addition to serving the political and religious establishments. As far as the Book of Jeremiah is concerned, the most useful picture of Israelite scribal culture emerges from the work of Karel van der Toorn, who supplies a particularly thorough and balanced treatment that sets Israelite scribal activity against the background of ancient Near Eastern scribal practice. In particular, he attends to the practical dimensions of the scribal art and provides a clearer idea of how scribes went about their business. In contrast to Davies and Schniedewind, van der Toorn focuses on the difficulties involved in producing literary works in antiquity. In general, the writing of tablets and scrolls was a complex technical enterprise, which was both time consuming and expensive. Scribes were highly trained specialists who were likely to have been richly rewarded for their efforts. This is an important point for scholars to remember if they want to propose a compositional model for Jeremiah that involves numerous textual additions over time, each one of which would have required the recopying of the entire scroll. The scribes, of course, were not only copyists, but were also often priests and scholars, who were fully capable of shaping and interpreting the texts with which they worked. To be sure, they did copy texts, and in Mesopotamia and Egypt scribes sometimes added notes to their copies to indicate the care that they took to insure the accuracy of their work. However, scribes generated new texts as well. Sometimes the new material was dictated to the scribes by individuals or groups who wanted a text to be written, a practice similar to the one described in Jer 36. In this case the scribes put the dictated material into an appropriate form and in the process exercised a certain amount of editorial freedom. The question of exactly how much freedom they had and how far they could depart from the dictated text is still a matter of scholarly debate. On other occasions, the scribes copied existing texts but also included new material, sometimes from other texts, sometimes from oral traditions, and sometimes from their own scholarly insights. Van der Toorn considers this sort of expansionist activity to be a form of Fortschreibung, and he points to

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a number of examples of the process in Mesopotamian literature.26 Scribes certainly had their own reasons for copying texts and reflected those interests in their work. They were undoubtedly influenced by the times and places in which they worked and by the intellectual traditions of which they were a part. However, it is important to remember that they also were focused on the texts they copied, and they did not operate in isolation from those texts. In the process of copying and creating new texts, the scribes also did what scholars usually do. They corrected suspected errors, supplied additional details, added missing formulas or titles, and provided clarifications and aids to interpretation. In short, scribal Fortschreibung was sometimes a form of exegetical activity, resulting in new text creation by scholars who were thoroughly familiar with the whole text with which they were working and with other texts as well. Van der Toorn makes one point that is worth stressing and developing further. He correctly notes that scribes sometimes had other social roles in the societies in which they operated. The ability to read and to create texts was a prerequisite for other high-status occupations, so it is not surprising to discover that scribes in Mesopotamia were also on occasion priests, diviners of various sorts, and high government officials. The same situation seems to have existed in Northwest Semitic societies as well. At Ugarit, where a number of scribes are mentioned in the texts, the best attested scribe, Ilimilku, lists his titles as “scribe” (spr), “chief of the priests” (rb khnm), “chief of the cultic herdsmen” (rb nqdm), and “ṯʿy-official of the king.” He also mentions his teacher, who is given the title “diviner” (prln) (CTA 6/KTU 1.6 vi 53–57 and elsewhere).27 The same overlapping of roles is of course also attested in the biblical prophetic texts. The prophet Ezekiel is said to have been a priest (Ezek 1:3), and the designation “cultic herdsman” is associated with the prophet Amos (Amos 1:1). Jeremiah is also said to have been part of a priestly family (Jer 1:1), while the scribe Shaphan and his relatives seem to have had strong associations with the temple and to have exercised governmental functions as well. This multiplicity of scribal social roles suggests that scribes might have had numerous interests when they interpreted and created texts. Scholars should not automatically assume that a given scribe had only one goal in mind when 26  Karel van der Toorn, Scribal Culture and the Making of the Hebrew Bible (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2007), esp. 109–41, 173–204. 27  Dennis Pardee, The Ugaritic Texts and the Origins of West-Semitic Literary Composition (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012), 42–43. See also the discussion of Adrian Curtis, “Ilimilku of Ugarit: Copyist or Creator?, in Philip R. Davies and Thomas Römer, eds., Writing the Bible: Scribes, Scribalism and Script (Durham: Acumen, 2013), 10–22.

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creating a text or that the existence of more than one set of themes in a text is to be automatically explained by assuming the presence of multiple editorial layers created by many scribes over a long period of time. Nor should scholars assume that the scribes who created the prophetic literature could not have been prophets themselves, as some recent research seems increasingly to imply.28 The repeated references to the Shaphan family in Jeremiah illustrate another characteristic of scribes that Van der Toorn does not discuss but that may be important in understanding how they operated. Scribes in the ancient Near East often appear to have been associated with particular families. Mesopotamian scribes frequently encouraged their sons to undertake scribal training so that they could rise in the court and temple bureaucracies, and by the firstmillennium bce scribes in their colophons were tracing their lineages to ancient scribal masters. There is even the possibility that scribes organized themselves into guilds, in which their family (or fictive family) genealogies were traced into antiquity.29 The prevalence of scribes in certain families is also attested at Ugarit, where scribal family genealogies can be reconstructed.30 This clustering of scribes in families suggests that scribes did not practice their profession only as isolated individuals but as members of family groups. Such a family group is represented in Jeremiah by the Shaphan family, and the familial interactions of members of such scribal groups may have provided a communal context for the study and interpretation of the texts that were being written and rewritten. This idea still needs further investigation, but if it should turn out to be correct, then it would help to unify current scholarly theories about the Deuteronomistic and Shaphanic scribal shaping of Jeremiah.31 The

28  Martti Nissinen, “Since When Do Prophets Write?,” in In the Footsteps of Sherlock Holmes: Studies in the Biblical Text in Honor of Anneli Aejmelaeus (ed. Kristin De Troyer et al.; Louvain: Peters, 2014), 585–606. 29  For a discussion of Mesopotamian scribal genealogies, see Robert R. Wilson, Genealogy and History in the Biblical World (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1977), 114–19, and the literature cited there. First-millennium Mesopotamian guilds are discussed in David B. Weisberg, Guild Structure and Political Allegiance in Early Achaemenid Mesopotamia (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1967). 30  Carole Roche-Hawley and Robert Hawley, “An Essay on Scribal Families, Tradition, and Innovation in Thirteenth-Century Ugarit,” in Beyond Hatti: A Tribute to Gary Beckman (ed. Billie Jean Collins and Piotr Michalowski; Atlanta: Lockwood Press, 2013), 241–64. 31  For a recent study of the Shaphan family, see Hermann-Josef Stipp, Jeremia, der Tempel und die Aristokratie: Die patrizische (schafanidische) Redaktion des Jeremiabuches (Waltrop: H. Spenner, 2000).

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Deuteronomistic movement may well have included priestly scribes who had governmental functions as well. Against the background sketched above, it appears that one fruitful area for future Jeremiah research might be an exploration of the relationship between the book’s poetic and prose materials with an eye to uncovering traces of scribal exegetical activity. Such a complex exploration cannot be undertaken here, but as an example of how such an enterprise might work, I will offer some concluding observations on the so called laments of Jeremiah in their broader context, including their possible connections to the narratives in chs. 26–45. The laments of Jeremiah (11:18–23; 12:1–6; 15:15–21; 17:14–18; 18:18–23; and 20:7–13) are a prominent feature of what many scholars consider to be the first major section of the book (chs. 2–25). They are primarily poetic in form, and are frequently compared to the Bible’s individual complaint psalms, even though, as Baumgartner long ago noted, the comparison is not exact.32 Although laments of this length do not appear in other prophetic books, there are numerous examples of individual and communal laments in Mesopotamian literature going back to the third millennium, and laments appear in secondmillennium texts from Ugarit as well.33 These extrabiblical examples are sometimes included in collections but are also woven into ritual texts dealing with repentance and expiation and are sometimes included in larger narrative works. For this reason, biblical scholars should be cautious about arguing that the laments in Jeremiah could only have arisen in the exilic or postexilic periods. In the opinion of some scholars, these longer laments may have arisen out of more fragmentary laments now found in the poetry of chs. 2–10, although the reverse case has also been argued.34 These fragmentary laments are often obscure, as is the case with much of the poetry in the book. Jeremiah 4:19–22, for example, seems to express the anguish of a speaker who is contemplating 32  Walter Baumgartner, Jeremiah’s Poems of Lament (trans. David E. Orton; Sheffield: Almond Press, 1988); trans. of Die Klagegedichte des Jeremia (BZAW 32; Giessen: Töpelmann, 1917). 33  William W. Hallo, “Lamentations and Prayers in Sumer and Akkad,” in CANE 3:1871–81; Pardee, Ugaritic Texts, 115–21. 34  For arguments supporting the idea that the fragmentary laments are part of the earliest layer of Jeremiah, see, for example, Karl-Friedrich Pohlmann, Die Ferne Gottes: Studien zum Jeremiabuch: Beiträge zu den “Konfessionen” im Jeremiabuch und ein Versuch zu der Frage nach den Anfängen der Jeremiatradition (BZAW 179; Berlin: de Gruyter, 1989), 187–89; and Konrad Schmid, The Old Testament: A Literary History (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2012), 126. For an alternative view, see Christoph Bultmann, “Jeremiah epigrammatistes: Towards a Typology of Prophecy in Jeremiah,” in Prophecy in the Book of Jeremiah (ed. Hans M. Barstad and Reinhard G. Kratz; BZAW 388; Berlin: de Gruyter, 2009), 78–79.

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the disaster that is about to come upon the land, although the identity of the speaker is unclear. Interpreters usually take the speaker to be Jeremiah, though v. 22 could be a quotation from the deity. Jeremiah 6:24–25 appears to be a brief quotation of a communal lament from the people, but it is followed in v. 26 by a warning from the prophet or from God. In Jer 8:18–23, the prophet appears to be lamenting the grief being experienced by the people, although this interpretation is uncertain. Jeremiah 9:1–2, on the other hand, is unambiguously a lament from God, who complains about the actions of the people. In Jer 10:19–21, either the prophet or the deity could be lamenting rejection by the people, although 10:23–25 appears to be a lament from the prophet referring to some sort of personal trauma. Against this background, the longer laments in chs. 11–20 may have been scribally shaped so as to resolve some of the ambiguities found in the earlier lament fragments, where in particular the question of the identity of the speaker often arises. The prophet is clearly the speaker in most of the longer laments, although at least one extensive divine lament is included in this section of the book (Jer 12:7–13). Furthermore, the prophet now complains about personal attacks from unspecified sources and not just about a general popular rejection of his message. The identity of his antagonists is not specified in the longer laments, although brief prose additions sometimes try to clarify this issue. Thus, in Jer 11:18–20, the prophet complains of evil plots against him, but only in the prose response to the complaint in v. 21 are the antagonists identified as the “people of Anatoth.” If taken together with Jer 1:1, this note could be a reference to members of the prophet’s family, although the relationship between the two passages is disputed. Even though the nature of Jeremiah’s persecution is not clear, he often asks for vengeance on his opponents and sometimes receives a divine response. By including an explicit divine response, the laments depart from the typical pattern of the biblical complaint psalms, which are thought to imply a divine response but almost never actually include one. However, as Mark Smith has pointed out in his study of the laments, the poems have not been grouped together by themselves but have been set into broader literary contexts that already appear to be trying to interpret the prophet’s words.35 Although Smith’s treatment of these literary contexts 35  Mark S. Smith, The Laments of Jeremiah and Their Contexts: A Literary and Redactional Study of Jeremiah 11-20 (SBLMS 42; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1990), xiii–xix, 2–68. A similar contextual approach to the laments has been taken by A. R. Diamond, who proposes a much more complex analysis of the material than does Smith. See A. R. Diamond, The Confessions of Jeremiah in Context (JSOTSup 45; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1987).

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sometimes lacks analytical precision, his general point is important and more-or-less accurate. According to Smith’s analysis, the laments themselves almost always consist of five elements: (1) a reference to God (11:18; 12:1; 15:15; 17:14; 18:19; 20:7); (2) a reference to the opponents, sometimes quoting their words but not identifying them explicitly (11:19; 12:1–2; 17:15; 18:20; 20:10); (3) the prophet’s declaration of innocence (11:19; 12:3; 15:16–18; 17:16; 18:20; 20:7); (4) a request for vengeance (11:20; 12:3–4; 15:15; 17:18; 18:21–22; 20:11–12); and (5) a divine response (11:21–23; 12:5–6; 15:19–21). The last element of this pattern is less clear than Smith suggests. In Jer 11:21–23, the divine response is contained in a short prose passage and therefore is possibly a later effort at interpreting the preceding poem by identifying the opponents and promising protection for the prophet. Jeremiah 12:3–4 assures the prophet that he has understood the opposition correctly and that he will have more conflicts with his family. A positive response is missing in the last three laments, although a response is implied by Jer 20:13. That leaves Jer 15:19–21 as the only poetic divine response that promises the prophet protection. Thus, taking into account only the poetic laments, the identity of the opponents remains vague, and the possibility of divine vengeance and protection for the prophet is uncertain. However, as the laments now stand, they have been surrounded by larger literary units that may be reflecting scribal attempts to interpret the poetic laments. The surrounding material sometimes implies that the prophet’s opponents are the people as a whole (note, for example Jer 15:10–14), an understanding that is consistent with the poetic oracles earlier in the book. Yet from time to time in chs. 11–25, there are other efforts to identify Jeremiah’s opponents more explicitly. In a prose passage that is part of the so-called drought speeches, the prophet identifies other prophets as the enemy, and God promises their destruction (Jer 14:13–16). This theme is amplified in ch. 23 by a collection of oracles against other prophets, while in ch. 20 the priest Pashhur is identified as an opponent. Jeremiah 21 introduces the first of several references to specific Judean kings, who along with the people are blamed for the destruction that will befall Jerusalem. The ambiguities remaining in the laments in chs. 11–25 may have helped to encourage the development of some of the themes to be found in the narrative prose in chs. 26–45. This material in fact may be generated by interpretive reflection on many of the literary units now found in chs. 2–25, including the laments in chs. 11–20. A brief review of two often discussed passages will help to illustrate this possibility. In the narrative of Jeremiah’s trial in ch. 26, several earlier passages seem to be reflected. The chapter obviously refers to Jer 7, although the main points

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of the earlier passage are not repeated in detail. The prophet in 26:1–6 accurately represents the conditional nature of the threat against Jerusalem and the people contained in ch. 7. However, the incident is given a specific historical context, just as a broader context is supplied for the prophet’s laments in chs. 11–20. Furthermore, the laments themselves and the interpretations given to them in Jer 11–25 may have influenced the story of the trial. Just as the opponents of the prophet in chs. 11–25 are identified contextually as priests, prophets, and the people as a whole, so also in Jer 26:7–8 all three groups initially demand the prophet’s death because they wrongly understand his earlier conditional prophecy to be an absolute prediction of destruction. In the narrative of the trial, the fate of Jeremiah remains in doubt, as various legal precedents are cited, and the clear impression is given that the current king, Jehoiakim, will not judge Jeremiah favorably as King Hezekiah earlier did in a similar case. The reference to Hezekiah introduces a comparison with one of the two kings evaluated positively by the Deuteronomistic Historians (2 Kgs 18:1–8), and it may be that Jer 26 also reflects Deuteronomistic scribal influence. During the trial, the people change sides in the debate and begin to support Jeremiah, an indication that some people did listen to the prophet and attempted to reform their behavior. Furthermore, some members of the temple and royal establishments also support the prophet. At the end of the trial narrative, the case at issue is not decided, but Jeremiah is protected by Ahikam the son of the scribe Shaphan. Shaphan and his family are said to have played a major role in the finding of a book of the law in Josiah’s time and to have been involved in the king’s Deuteronomic religious and political reforms (2 Kgs 22:3–20). The narrative thus may be interpreting several earlier passages, and among other things may be interested in resolving any doubts that might be raised by the laments about whether or not God will protect the prophet from his enemies. Jeremiah’s enemies and friends are also clearly identified in ways that are different from those found in Jer 11–25, and the specific references to particular individuals may be an effort to support the authority claims of certain exilic groups looking forward to status and power in a restored Jerusalem. The multiple scribal goals and interests reflected in earlier Jeremiah literature are also in evidence in Jer 36, which like ch. 26 is given a specific date in the time of Jehoiakim. Once again the questions raised by the laments concerning the opponents of Jeremiah and his safety are raised, this time in the context of the writing and public reading of a scroll containing all of Jeremiah’s prophecies delivered up to the time of the incident being narrated. Once again the prophet is protected by the family of Shaphan, and that protection also extends to the scribe, Baruch, who produced the scroll. The threat to the scribe and the extension of divine protection to him as well as to the prophet are

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clearly a development of motifs found in the laments. In the last lament, Jer 20:7–13, it is clear that the troubles experienced by the prophet are being generalized to refer to all people who suffer in a similar way. Jeremiah 36 makes the point that people who are threatened in the same way as the prophet can also expect divine support of the same sort that Jeremiah received. The second issue raised by ch. 36 is the question of the legitimacy of written as opposed to oral prophecy and perhaps also the question of the legitimacy of scribal expansions to an existing scroll. Both of these questions may be reflecting Jer 8:8, a poetic oracle that complains that the divine Torah has been rendered false by the “false pen of the scribes.” This passage not only raises the issue of the validity of written rather than oral teaching, but it also raises the issue of the extent of scribal freedom to expand and interpret written texts. Jeremiah 36 deals with both issues. The repeated insistence of the narrator that Baruch wrote a scroll reflecting exactly what the prophet said is intended to emphasize scribal fidelity to the oral words of the prophet, just as 2 Kgs 22–23 portrays a scribe (Shaphan), a priest (Hilkiah), a king (Josiah), and a prophet (Huldah) granting authority to another written text containing divine teaching that was originally the oral teaching of Moses. Both Moses and Jeremiah, the prophet like Moses, speak with God mouth to mouth, and both produce an accurate written version of the conversation. It is probably therefore correct to see Jer 36 as an effort by Deuteronomistic scribes to give written prophetic texts the same authority as the written Torah.36 The chapter also suggests that scribal expansions of existing texts are legitimate, although arguments for that proposition are implied rather than stated explicitly. Finally, like ch. 26, ch. 36 addresses again the question of Jeremiah’s enemies and friends and again elevates the status of the Shaphan family, thus perhaps underlining another Deuteronomistic interest. Both of these narrative prose passages, then, seem to reflect standard scribal practices and are probably in large part the work of Deuteronomistic scribes, although other scribes may be involved as well. The accounts of social conflict in both passages attest to specific value judgments being made about the actions of various individuals and groups in Jerusalem before the fall of the city, and the accounts thus help to assign blame for the destruction and the exile. However, the accounts also imply an interest in the exilic community in Babylon and may be attempting to realign power structures there in anticipation of a return to the land. The scribes interested in these issues could 36  The connections between Jer 36 and 2 Kgs 22–23 have often been noted. See most recently, Thomas Römer, “From Prophet to Scribe: Jeremiah, Huldah and the Invention of the Book,” in Writing the Bible, 86–96.

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come from a Deuteronomistic background, but they could also represent other groups that we cannot yet identify.37 In any case, the scribes may well be shaping these narratives about Jeremiah by interpreting a variety of passages elsewhere in the book, and the writers may be particularly concerned with resolving the ambiguities attested in the book’s poetic material.38 The scribes appear to have had a number of different goals for their work in these two chapters, and this complexity should be allowed to remain. This sort of exegetical work is in evidence elsewhere in the book as well and is the beginning of a long tradition of interpretative efforts that extend through the Second Temple period and that continue down to the present day.

37  Several recent studies have analyzed these conflicts in the exilic community, although not all of the scholars involved accept the Deuteronomistic origins of the disputes. For discussions of the issues involved, see Karl-Friedrich Pohlmann, Studien zum Jeremiabuch (FRLANT 118; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1978); Christopher R. Seitz, Theology in Conflict: Reactions to the Exile in the Book of Jeremiah (BZAW 176; Berlin: de Gruyter, 1989); J. Andrew Dearman, “My Servants the Scribes: Composition and Context in Jeremiah 36,” JBL 109 (1990): 403–21; Hermann-Josef Stipp, Jeremia im Parteienstreit: Studien zur Textentwicklung von Jer 26, 36-43 und 45 als Beitrag zur Geschichte Jeremias, seines Buches und judäischer Parteien im 6. Jahrhundert (BBB 82; Frankfurt am Main: Anton Hain, 1992); Carolyn J. Sharp, Prophecy and Ideology in Jeremiah: Struggles for Authority in the DeuteroJeremianic Prose (OTS; London: T&T Clark, 2003); and Else K. Holt, “Jeremiah’s Temple Sermon Revisited: Jeremiah 7 and 26 and the Quest for a Deuteronomistic Redactor of the Book of Jeremiah,” in Houses Full of All Good Things: Essays in Memory of Timo Veijola (ed. Juha Pakkala and Martti Nissinen; Publications of the Finnish Exegetical Society 95; Helsinki: Finnish Exegetical Society, 2008), 316–36. 38  This sort of exegetical work does not rule out the possibility that the scribes were also using oral traditions about Jeremiah or communal memories about his activities, although the latter category in particular requires further study.

chapter 2

A New Understanding of the Book of Jeremiah. A Response to Robert R. Wilson Georg Fischer Research on Jeremiah has flourished enormously in the past 30 years.1 Since the mid-eighties numerous articles, monographs, and commentaries on the Book of Jeremiah have appeared.2 The conference in Ascona in 2014 on “Jeremiah’s Scriptures” was therefore a welcome occasion for Jeremiah scholars to meet, to discuss recent developments and results, and to arrive at a new basis for the interpretation of Jeremiah, nearly three decades after a significant change.3 In the following I intend to mention some of the major insights of the past years (1). Against this background, I will address several disputed issues (2).

1  A decisive turning point was the year 1986, with the publication of—in the three cases mentioned last—at least the initial volumes of the four commentaries of Robert P. Carroll (Old Testament Library; entirely), Siegfried Herrmann (Biblischer Kommentar), William L. Holladay (Hermeneia), and William McKane (International Critical Commentary); for this see the review of Helga Weippert, “Hieremias quadruplex: Vier neue Kommentare zum Jeremiabuch.” TRev 87 (1991): 177–88. Already earlier on, in 1980, the Colloquium Biblicum Lovaniense, was dedicated to the Book of Jeremiah; the conference proceedings have been edited by Pierre-Maurice Bogaert, Le Livre de Jérémie (BETL 54; Leuven: Peeters, 1981; 2d ed. 1997). 2  “Jeremiah” may refer to the—historical or literary—figure of the prophet as well as to the book attributed to him. This remark is also valid for my second article in this book, the response to Hermann-Josef Stipp (p. 166–85). 3  I am grateful to Hindy Najman and Konrad Schmid who took the initiative in organizing this conference at such a beautiful location and who invited me to it. This contribution was originally a response to Robert Wilson’s introductory lecture on “Exegesis, Expansion and Tradition Making in the Book of Jeremiah” on the first evening of the conference. As his paper is very long and mixes various aspects, I prefer to present first how I perceive the state of Jeremiah research, and I react to some of his views, for the most part, only in an indirect way.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���7 | doi ��.��63/9789004320253_003

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Achievements in Jeremiah Research

1.1 The “Liberation” Brought About by Robert P. Carroll Carroll’s commentary and his other publications on Jeremiah substantially changed Jeremiah research.4 He succeeded in showing that Jeremiah is a kind of “mixture,” with a multitude of ideas and intentions, mostly presented in very short units. Because of their orientation and language, many of them can neither be attributed to the prophet himself, nor can they be grouped together into “layers” or “redactions,” as they are too disparate. Carroll’s impact can hardly be overestimated. He “liberated” the interpretation of Jeremiah from too close of a connection with the historical Jeremiah, as becomes evident, for example, in the commentaries of William L. Holladay, and even more so, of Jack R. Lundbom, but also in other studies.5 Carroll’s critical analyses allow for the separation of prophet and book, thus enabling the more accurate perception of Jeremiah as the product of a later time. Carroll’s second major contribution lies in his skepticism regarding our ability to reconstruct the compositional process of Jeremiah. He states, “The story of the growth of the book of Jeremiah ‘is impossible to tell.’ ”6 Carroll rightly points out that we have no safe access to the literary development behind the genesis of Jeremiah. What is adduced to explain the emergence of Jeremiah belongs to the realm of speculation and, sometimes, phantasy. Herein, Carroll’s clear remarks call for caution and should be taken seriously. If we cannot verify hypotheses about the development of Jeremiah in any way whatsoever, then they are methodologically unsound and should be abandoned. 4  Robert P. Carroll, Jeremiah (OTL; London: SCM, 1986); idem, From Chaos to Covenant: Uses of Prophecy in the Book of Jeremiah (London: SCM, 1981), and many articles, also penetrating and pioneering overviews on research (cf. note 6 below for one example). 5  William L. Holladay, Jeremiah 1 (Chapters 1–25) (Hermeneia; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1986); and idem, Jeremiah 2 (Chapters 26–52) (Hermeneia; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1989); Jack R. Lundbom, Jeremiah 1–20 (AB 21A; New York: Doubleday, 1999); idem, Jeremiah 21–36 (AB 21B; New York: Doubleday, 2004); and idem, Jeremiah 37–52 (AB 21C; New York: Doubleday, 2004). An example of the “lasting desire” to find “authentic” prophetic words is Gianni Barbiero, “Tu mi hai sedotto, Signore”: Le confessioni di Geremia alla luce della sua vocazione profetica (AnBib Studia 2; Rome: Gregorian & Biblical Press, 2013). 6  Robert P. Carroll, “Century’s End: Jeremiah Studies at the Beginning of the Third Millenium,” CurBR 8 (2000): 18–58, at 23. Earlier on, in “Intertextuality and the Book of Jeremiah,” in The New Literary Criticism and the Hebrew Bible (ed. J. Cheryl Exum and David J. A. Clines; JSOTSup 143; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1993), 55–78 at 62, Carroll had already stated that “Our knowledge of the processes leading to the Book of Jeremiah . . . is absolutely nil.”

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Carroll, in his “razor” approach,7 has helped Jeremiah research a great deal. Jeremiah scholars can enjoy new freedom and be open to the study of Jeremiah as it really is and in an appropriate manner: it is a book to be analyzed with respect to its literary characteristics. 1.2 The Internal Cohesion of Jeremiah A balance of centripetal and centrifugal forces enables life on our planet. Similarly, larger literary works are a mixture of “binding” and “diverging” motifs. This is also true for what is by far the longest single book of the Bible, Jeremiah.8 It contains many different elements, whose arrangement, connections, and nature of their inclusion in the book are often far from clear. On the macro-level, we find various genres, the interchange of poetry and prose, reports about the prophet and seemingly “autobiographical” passages,9 etc. On the micro-level, the speakers, imagery, point of view, vocabulary, and orientation frequently switch so rapidly that the text resembles an apparently random mosaic, and readers have to struggle to detect and follow its logic. To balance the effects of this diversity, Jeremiah employs a number of devices to hold the book together. Right at the start, the Incipit interrelates God’s and the prophet’s words in 1:1–2 in such a way that they can hardly be separated.10 This interlacing of divine and human speech is further enhanced in later parts of the book and is central to understanding it.11 It also stands in the background of 7  Jurie le Roux, “In search of Carroll’s Jeremiah (Or: Good old Jerry, did he really live? Question irrelevant!),” OTE 7 (1994): 60–90, gives an excellent description of Carroll’s contribution and at the same time a profound and critical characterization of his approach, driven by a “hermeneutics of suspicion” (p. 89). 8  Samuel, Kings, and Chronicles would be longer, but have been separated. Jer has 21,819 words in Hebrew, corresponding to 7.26% of the Hebrew Bible, according to the appendix of Ernst Jenni and Claus Westermann, eds., TWAT (2d. ed.; Munich: Kaiser, 1979), 2:540. The next longest books are Genesis, Psalms, Ezekiel and Isaiah, with respectively 20,611, 19,531, 18,731, and 16,930 words. 9  Referring to Jeremiah by first person singular, as in Jer 1:4 “The Word of Yhwh came to me . . .,” and often elsewhere. 10  Rüdiger Liwak, Der Prophet und die Geschichte (BWANT 121; Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1987), 102, first applied the term “Incipit” to Jer 1:1–3. Jer 1:1 “Words of Jeremiah”; Jer 1:2 “to whom the word of Yhwh came.” The LXX of Jeremiah, on the contrary, resolves the double origin of the words found in Jeremiah and the resulting tension by passing off everything as divine message. For the question of the relationship between the Hebrew and the Greek text of Jeremiah see my other article in this volume. 11  Key passages are Jer 1:9 where God touches Jeremiah’s mouth and interprets this gesture as the handing over of his words to the prophet, and Jer 15:19 where God offers Jeremiah the opportunity “to be like his mouth”.

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the motif of the false prophets, a theme developed in Jeremiah more than in any other book of the Bible. In addition, the Incipit likewise starts the “chronology” of Jeremiah, one of the main structuring devices of the book. Jeremiah 1:2–3 give an overview of the time span of Jeremiah’s prophetic activity, covering approximately 627–587 bce.12 The kings and dates mentioned are based on the accounts in 2 Kings that serve as a source throughout the book up to and including its very last chapter, Jer 52, which is almost entirely adopted from 2 Kgs 24:18–25:30. The final date announced, the fifth month of King Zedekiah’s eleventh year (1:3), only occurs again in Jer 52:12, with the burning down of the temple and the large houses in Jerusalem, and the exile of a substantial part of the capital’s population (52:15). This framing requires that Jer 52 be perceived as integral to the book. In between, Jer 25:3 picks up the initial indication of King Josiah’s thirteenth year (Jer 1:2). The beginning of Jer 25 equates it with King Jehoiakim’s fourth year as well as with Nebuchadnezzar’s first year (25:1; 605 bce). This double date offers a clue to the second half of Jeremiah because it is repeated in corner chapters,13 and, only in its very last occurrence in Jer 46:2, its significance is revealed by identifying it with the date of the Battle of Carchemish. The delay of this disclosure seems to be conscious; it produces for the readers of Jeremiah the effect that Jeremiah, already early on in Jer 25, understood the full impact of the Babylonian crown prince’s victory as an important change in the history of the ancient Near East, whereas Judah’s kings remained ignorant of it. Jeremiah 26–52 contain several other dates.14 They do not chart a chronological order: Jer 32:1, for example, refers to the tenth year of King Zedekiah (ca. 588 bce), and Jer 35:1 turns back to the reign of King Jehoiakim (before 598 bce). Similarly, the events narrated in Jer 40–44 are situated in the time after the fall of Jerusalem in 587 bce; afterwards Jer 45:1 comes back to 605 bce. The chronological disarray is clearly intentional; whoever wrote Jeremiah obviously followed a different rationale in the arrangement of the book. The time fractures, therefore, cannot be taken as indications of disparate origins. 12  The period of 40 years seems to have been chosen deliberately in order to form a contrast to the 40 years of King David’s and King Solomon’s years at the beginning of the monarchy in Judah; cf. Georg Fischer, Jeremia 1–25 (HThKAT; Freiburg: Herder, 2005), 128–29. 13  It occurs again in Jer 36:1 and 45:1, which frame the last block of narratives in Jer, and in Jer 46:2, the opener for the section of the “Oracles against foreign nations”. 14  For an overview see Fischer, Jeremia 1–25, 80.

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Another feature that at first sight might point to Jeremiah having various authors is the shifting between prose and poetry. These changes are especially frequent in the first half of Jeremiah. Instead of assigning them to different layers,15 Louis Stulman has suggested seeing them as interrelated.16 Prose texts serve as “guides” to interpreting poetic passages, to relating them to “history” and thus enable the readers to understand the meaning of the “chaotic” dialogues and imagery of the poetry in Jeremiah. A year later, Robert Wilson proffered a similar explanation.17 Far from tearing apart the book or being a sign of its development at different stages, the combination of prose and poetry gives coherence to Jeremiah and is an excellent medium for conveying its message more poignantly. The unchronological order of Jeremiah and its mix of prose and poetry appear at first sight as ”dispersing” forces; however, there is strong evidence that they are planned and therefore belong to a deliberate scheme behind the organization of Jeremiah. There are still other “binding” elements to hold the divergent aspects and pieces of the book together. The high number of repetitions provides a kind of “glue” for the book on various levels. No other biblical book makes such frequent use of formulas introducing God’s speech.18 It constantly reminds the readers of the divine origin of these words and, therefore, their heightened authority. Other forms of repetition in Jeremiah are found in the recurring longer expressions,19 or the so-called “doublets,” texts with a 15  This was the solution of Sigmund Mowinckel, Zur Komposition des Buches Jeremia. (Kristiania: A.W. Broggers, 1914), and many others who followed his lead. However, Mowinckel later distanced himself from his own theory. 16  Louis Stulman, Order amid Chaos: Jeremiah as Symbolic Tapestry (The Biblical Seminar 57; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1998), 18, and various times throughout the book till p. 186. 17  Robert R. Wilson, “Poetry and Prose in the Book of Jeremiah,” in Ki Baruch Hu: Ancient Near Eastern, Biblical, and Judaic Studies in Honor of Baruch A. Levine (ed. Robert Chazan, William W. Hallo, and Lawrence H. Schiffman; Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 1999), 413–27. He recognizes the link between prose and “didactic passages” (p. 420); prose in Jeremiah often “summarizes and simplifies the preceding poetic material” (p. 423). In his paper in Ascona, he also focused on the fact that the (poetic) laments are often “surrounded by larger literary units” in prose (p. 18). 18  The main ones are “utterance of Yhwh” (166×), “thus says Yhwh” (154×), and “the word of Yhwh came . . .” (36×). 19  E.g., the contrasting verbs “to pluck up and to tear down, . . . to build and to plant,” the triad “sword, hunger, pestilence,” and many others; Hermann-Josef Stipp, Deuterojeremianische Konkordanz (ATSAT 63; St. Ottilien: EOS Verlag, 1998) is a very helpful tool for investigating them.

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length of one to several verses occurring twice within the book.20 The latter are like “clamps” connecting the various parts of the book. The same holds true to a greater degree for longer texts containing similar events, as in the case of the two temple sermons in Jer 7 and 26, and of the accounts of Jerusalem’s fall in Jer 39 and 52. All these forms of repetition contribute to the cohesion of Jeremiah. Dominant motifs also play a key role in the book. Some of them show a continuous development throughout the book. This can be illustrated by looking at the references to the two main foreign nations. “Egypt”21 is mentioned first in Jer 2:6 as the country of the exodus; however, this divine liberation is no longer remembered. In the same chapter, two other nuances come to the fore. Jeremiah 2:18 alludes to intentions to go there, as will happen later in Jer 42–44, and Jer 2:36–37 speaks of being put to shame by Egypt. The delusional trust placed in the country on the Nile reaches its final destiny in Jer 46, where Egypt is utterly defeated but nevertheless promised survival at the end.22 The other prominent nation in Jeremiah is Babylon.23 Its first occurrence comes late, in Jer 20:4. Before that the motif of a “foe from the North” had announced an unidentified fierce nation attacking Judah and Jerusalem (Jer 1:15; 4:6; 6:1, 22–24, etc.). In Jer 20, immediately after the torturing of Jeremiah that follows his first reported commissioning of God’s message of doom in the book (Jer 19:14–20:3), the identity of this enemy is revealed. Babylon continues to play a decisive role throughout, up to and including the very last chapters. Similar to Egypt in Jer 46 but to a greater degree, Babylon

20  For a list of them see Geoffrey H. Parke-Taylor, The Formation of the Book of Jeremiah: Doublets and Recurring Phrases (SBLMS 51; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2000). Examples are Jer 6:12–15 // 8:10–12; 10:12–16 // 51:15–19; 15:13–14 // 17:3–4, etc. 21  For its various roles in Jeremiah, see Michael P. Maier, Ägypten – Israels Herkunft und Geschick: Studie über einen theo-politischen Zentralbegriff im hebräischen Jeremiabuch (ÖBS 21; Frankfurt: Lang, 2002). “Egypt” occurs 62 times in Jeremiah, the most occurrences to be found in biblical books after Exodus (175x) and Genesis (88x). 22  The last phrase of Jer 46:26 indicates hope for Egypt, after Nebuchadnezzar’s attack. The other arrangement of the Greek text of Jer places Jer 46 MT, the culmination in God’s judgment of Egypt, already as chapter 26 (LXX). Jer 42–45 MT, the Judeans’ emigration to Egypt, correspond to Jer 49–51 LXX. Thus the Septuagint version of Jeremiah does not follow the dynamic of the Hebrew text of Jeremiah and presents a logic of its own. 23  For its function in Jeremiah, cf. John Hill, Friend or Foe? The Figure of Babylon in the Book of Jeremiah MT (Biblical Interpretation Series 40; Leiden: Brill, 1999) and Walter Brueggemann, “At the mercy of Babylon” JBL 110 (1991): 3–22. “Babylon” occurs 169 times in Jeremiah, nearly two-thirds of all instances in the Hebrew Bible (262x).

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undergoes divine judgment in Jer 50–51. Twice it is related to the “retribution for [the destruction of] his temple,”24 which will not be narrated until Jer 52:13. The motifs of Egypt and Babylon are spread throughout the whole book and display a development, leading in both cases to their final judgment by God. Furthermore, they are intertwined in various ways.25 These are indications of a complex, yet well-planned composition of the entire book. Similarly, the different accents and orientations of the first and the second half of Jeremiah can be seen as a kind of drama in two parts.26 Another sign of the cohesion of Jeremiah is the question-answer schemes, where the question is not answered until much later in the text. Jeremiah 8:22 asks, literally: “Why has not arisen [‫ עלה‬in the qal stem] the healing of the daughter–my people?”27 This question remains open until answered by God’s address to Zion in Jer 30:17: “I will make arise [‫ עלה‬in the hiphil stem] healing for you.” In Jer 14:19 the people ask, “Have you completely rejected Judah?”— once again, an answer is found later on, in Jer 31:37 and 33:26, with God vowing not to do so.28 Looking back at these illustrations of some of the “binding” devices in Jeremiah, it suggests that the entire book is linked on various levels. Several types of repetition, important motifs, literary techniques, indications of time, etc. form multiple grids permeating the book. Robert Carroll was right in distinguishing the individual small unities and their peculiarities; however, it is also necessary to perceive the connections between them and throughout the whole book, and, taken together, these produce the impression that Jeremiah, despite its diversity, is astonishingly coherent. 24  Jer 50:28; 51:11. The logic of the “Babylon” motif also demands the arrangement of the MT for the book of Jeremiah: Jer LXX already brings in Babylon’s judgment as chapters 27–28, long before its actions against Judah are described (mainly from Jer 39 LXX onwards, up to and including Jer 47 LXX). 25  The fear of Babylonian vengeance, e.g., incites the Judean military leaders to seek escape in Egypt, starting in Jer 41:17; the King of Babylon and his forces defeat and conquer Egypt in Jer 46. 26  In this regard, too, the book of Stulman, Order, is illuminating. He apprehends Jer 1–25 as “death and dismantling of Judah’s sacred world,” and Jer 26–52 as “New beginnings emerging from a shattered world,” responding to the first part (pp. 18, 23 and 56). 27  Later on, in Jer 33:6, God will again promise this kind of a healing. ‫ עלה‬combined with ‫ ארכה‬applied to people is exclusively used in Jeremiah; the other instances of this phrase in Neh 4:1 and 2 Chr 24:13 refer to buildings. 28  For further examples of this device, especially with the scroll of consolation, see Georg Fischer, Das Trostbüchlein: Text, Komposition und Theologie von Jer 30–31 (Stuttgarter Biblische Beiträge 26; Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 1993), 155–58.

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1.3 The Intertextual Relationships of Jeremiah Maybe the most important “discovery” of the past decades of Jeremiah research was the perception of its numerous, and obviously systematic links with other biblical books. Certainly, such connections have always been seen, for instance in the interpretation of the Church Fathers.29 The new insight, however, is that these relationships pervade the whole book, display some regular features, and are interpreted as intentional.30 The most obvious example is the final chapter of Jeremiah, which almost completely depends on 2 Kgs 24:18–25:30. Jeremiah 52, in addition, expands some features of its source text, e.g. the description of the columns of the temple, and the numbers of those exiled.31 Furthermore, Jer heavily enlarges the “Gedaliah episode” (2 Kgs 25:22–26) in Jer 40:7–43:7,32 attributing to it a key function for the entire book, as it shows in an exemplary way the disobedience of Judeans even after the fall of Jerusalem. Their behavior demonstrates their continuing unwillingness to listen to God and his prophet and reaches the pinnacle of perversion in the vow of idolatry mentioned in Jer 44:25. The example of 2 Kgs 25, the last chapter of the “Former Prophets,” strongly suggests that Jer could have known them all33 and must have been written after 561 bce because it refers at the end to the favor shown to King Jehoiachin in that year, mentioned also in Jer 52:31–34. It is not possible to list here even a small representative selection of Jeremiah’s connections with these and other books; so I will only briefly present the results of various investigations.34 29  The homilies of Origen on Jeremiah and the Jeremiah commentaries of St. Jerome and Theodoret, for example, often adduce biblical parallels to explain Jeremiah texts. 30  The first one to draw attention to this fact and to list systematically in detail these relationships was William Holladay, Jeremiah 2, 35–95. 31  See especially Jer 52:21–23, 28–30. 32  This is the best example of “expansion” in Jeremiah, the second aspect of the title of Wilson’s presentation (cf. note 3). What originally had been five verses, Jeremiah has extended into three chapters, or even more, as the sequel in 43:8–44:30 is its necessary completion. “Expansion,” in this case, does not happen “within” Jeremiah, but describes what happens, on a diachronic level, as a process from the short note in 2 Kings to the narrative in Jer 40–43. 33  Other links with the books of the “Deuteronomistic History” can be seen in “the Kingdoms of Hazor” (Josh 11:10; Jer 49:28), the exhortation to invoke other gods (Judg 10:14; Jer 11:12), God’s promise to David (2 Sam 7:14; Jer 31:9), etc. For the intense connections between 2 Kgs 17 and Jer see Georg Fischer, “The Relationship between 2 Kings 17 and the Book of Jeremiah,” in Basel und Bibel (ed. Matthias Augustin and Hermann M. Niemann; BEAT 51; Frankfurt: Lang, 2004), 313–21. 34  They have been summarized in Georg Fischer, Jeremia: Der Stand der theologischen Diskussion (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2007), 131–47, and, newly,

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The Torah, above all the books of Exodus35 and of Deuteronomy,36 has been a main source for Jeremiah. The creation narrative of Gen 1 is presupposed in its reversal in Jer 4:23–26. God’s bringing out of the exiled ones from the countries of the North and their dispersion overrides the old exodus out of Egypt (Jer 16:14–15 // 23:7–8). Various expressions of Lev 26 form exclusive links with Jeremiah.37 Moab texts and place names from Num 21:32–33 serve as a source for the Moab oracles in Jer 48.38 With respect to Deuteronomy, William Holladay distinguished between passages that he took as being prior to Jeremiah, and others that he regarded as being dependent on Jeremiah.39 In my estimation, Deuteronomy as a whole precedes Jeremiah and is most adopted by it. Jeremiah uses Deuteronomy more than any other book of the Bible, and therein specifically Deut 28, the chapter with the blessings and the curses.40 Jeremiah is familiar with the final chapters of Deuteronomy,41 as well as with seemingly “late” texts like Gen 1 idem, Jeremia: Prophet über Völker und Königreiche (Biblische Gestalten 29; Leipzig: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 2015), 95–119. 35  See Georg Fischer, “Zurück nach Ägypten: Exodusmotivik im Jeremiabuch,” in A Pillar of Cloud to Guide: Text-critical, Redactional, and Linguistic Perspectives on the Old Testament: in Honour of Marc Vervenne (ed. Hans Ausloos and Bénédicte Lemmelijn; BETL 269; Leuven: Peeters, 2014), 73–92. 36  For a systematic summary cf. Holladay, Jeremiah 2, 53–63, and Georg Fischer, “Der Einfluss des Deuteronomiums auf das Jeremiabuch,” in Deuteronomium – Tora für eine neue Generation (ed. Georg Fischer, Dominik Markl, and Simone Paganini; BZAR 17; Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2011), 247–69. 37  E.g. the phrases “to give rain showers” (Lev 26:4; Jer 5:24) and “the soul abhors” (Lev 26:30; Jer 14:19). 38  Georg Fischer, Jeremia 26–52 (HThKAT; Freiburg: Herder, 2005), 528. See also the parallel endings of Num 24:17 and Jer 48:45. 39  Holladay, Jeremiah 2. He assumes that Deut 32 is prior to Jeremiah (pp. 53–56), and that Deut 12–26 serve as a background for Jeremiah’s poetry and prose (pp. 56–59). Inversely, Deut 28:49, 51–52 “is evidently dependent on Jer 5:15, 17” in his view (p. 62, and further examples till p. 63). 40  Georg Fischer, “Fulfilment and Reversal: The Curses of Deuteronomy 28 as a Foil for the Book of Jeremiah” Semitica et Classica 5 (2012): 43–49. The intensity of the relationship to Deuteronomy is specific for Jeremiah, as no other biblical book alludes to Deuteronomy more than Jeremiah does. 41  Georg Fischer, “Das Ende von Deuteronomium (Dtn 26–34) im Spiegel des Jeremiabuches,” in “Gerechtigkeit und Recht zu üben”: Festschrift für Eckart Otto (ed. Reinhard Achenbach and Martin Arneth; BZAR 13; Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2010) 281–92; new in idem, Der Prophet wie Mose. Studien zum Jeremiabuch (BZAR 15; Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2011), 228–40; pp. 170–262 of this volume contain several articles on the intertextual relationships of Jeremiah.

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and Lev 26, an indication that the entire Torah, with high probability, is prior to Jeremiah. Jeremiah’s relationships with the “Latter Prophets” go in two directions. There are undisputed cases, like the books of Amos and Hosea, which generally are taken to predate Jeremiah. Similarly, most exegetes perceive Micah and “First Isaiah” as being sources for Jeremiah; this clearly seems to be the case for Mic 3:12, which is quoted in Jer 26:18. There are close connections between Obad 1–5 and Jer 49:9, 14–16, between Nah 3:5, 19 and Jer 13:22, 26; 30:12, and between Hab 2:13 and Jer 51:58. In all these cases it is likely that the smaller books of the Twelve Prophets were earlier and that Jeremiah incorporated some of their marked phrases and images into his vast work. Debate is going on with respect to Isaiah and Ezekiel. There are close links between the idolatrous worship in Isa 44 and Jer 10:3–4. Angelika Berlejung interprets them as Jeremiah being dependent on Isaiah.42 God’s criticism of “incense coming from Sheba” in Jer 6:20 seems to presuppose Isa 60:6.43 These are signs that even texts of the so-called Deutero- and Trito-Isaiah may predate Jeremiah. For Ezekiel, Henk Leene has offered convincing evidence that Jeremiah uses it as a source.44 Summing up this overview on the intertextual relationships, it can be concluded that Jeremiah draws on more than half of the Hebrew Bible.45 This indicates not only a relatively late stage for the date of its composition, but 42  Angelika Berlejung, Die Theologie der Bilder (OBO 162; Fribourg: Universitätsverlag, 1998), 391. 43  Another exclusive link between these chapters is the expression “violence and destruction” (Isa 60:18; Jer 6:7). For further relationships between Isaiah and Jeremiah and their different orientations see Georg Fischer, “Partner oder Gegner? Zum Verhältnis von Jesaja und Jeremia,” in “Sieben Augen auf einem Stein” (Sach 3,9): Festschrift für Ina WilliPlein (ed. Friedhelm Hartenstein and Michael Pietsch; Neukirchen: Neukirchener Verlag, 2007), 69–79; new in idem, Prophet, 188–99. 44  See Henk Leene, “Ezekiel and Jeremiah: Promises of Inner Renewal in Diachronic Perspective,” in Past, Present, Future: The Deuteronomistic History and the Prophets (ed. Johannes C. de Moor and Herrie F. van Rooy; OTS 44; Leiden: Brill, 2000), 150–75; idem, “Blowing the Same Shofar,” in The Elusive Prophet: The Prophet as a Historical Person, Literary Character and Anonymous Artist (ed. Johannes C. de Moor; OTS 45; Leiden: Brill, 2001), 175–98, and idem, Newness in Old Testament Prophecy: An Intertextual Study (OTS 64; Leiden: Brill 2014), 252–71. 45  In the usual arrangement of its scriptures, Jeremiah’s familiarity with other scrolls covers all the books from Genesis through Isaiah, and also from Ezekiel to Zephaniah, with the possible exceptions of Joel and Jonah. Counting the pages in the fourth edition of the BHS, this corresponds to approximately 930 pages out of a total of 1574, of which the

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also a highly sophisticated working technique, which is visible throughout the entire book. Whoever wrote Jeremiah must have been acquainted with all these scrolls, able to grasp their different perspectives, capable of discerning their specific, distinctive phrases, and able to bring all these aspects together in his own book, with a wealth of allusions and re-use of material from the previous books.46 Dealing with the intertextual links of Jeremiah, I want to mention at the end also those scrolls where the direction of dependence is reversed and which draw on Jeremiah.47 This is obviously the case with Ezra (1:1) and 2 Chronicles (35– 36), which refer to the prophet several times by name. The Book of Zechariah uses Jeremiah,48 and similarly the Psalter.49 Jeremiah is an example of tradition making50 in two directions. Firstly, it has become very clear that Jeremiah is establishing “tradition.” It adopts earlier scripture which—at least partially—was already regarded or had come to be authoritative, and forms it into a scroll of its own, in a highly reflective and complex literary level; thus Jeremiah itself is a model for the molding of tradition in the process of its composition. On the other hand, Jeremiah became a source for other authors who, on their part, used it as a foundation to construct their new ideas and messages, as proven by the examples mentioned in the paragraph above and the various writings dealt with in the further course of the conference in Ascona.51 116 pages for Jeremiah have to be deducted; the percentage (ca. 930 : 1460) is thus more than 63 %. 46  The first word of the title of Wilson’s paper was “Exegesis.” What becomes visible in Jeremiah’s intertextual connections is deliberate interpretative activity, picking up older texts, combining and sometimes even contrasting them (e.g. in the promise of the New Covenant, Jer 31:31-34). Jeremiah, however, goes beyond “exegesis” (as explaining scripture) in that it claims actually to convey divine messages and thus to be as authoritative as the works it adopts and refers to. 47  Fischer, Stand, 141–42 and 144–47. 48  This has been shown by Konrad R. Schaefer, “Zechariah 14: A Study in Allusions,” CBQ 57 (1995), 66–91; Risto Nurmela, Prophets in Dialogue (Åbo: Åbo Akademis Förlag, 1996), and Michael R. Stead, “The Three Shepherds: Reading Zechariah 11 in the Light of Jeremiah,” in A God of Faithfulness: Essays in Honour of J. Gordon McConville (ed. Jamie A. Grant, Alison Lo and Gordon Wenham; LHBOTS 538; New York: T&T Clark, 2011), 149–65. 49  Georg Fischer, “Jeremia und die Psalmen,” in The Composition of the Book of Psalms (Erich Zenger; BETL 238; Leuven: Peeters, 2010), 469–78; new in idem, Prophet, 250–58. 50  This is the third and last aspect of Wilson’s title; it also aptly refers to processes with reference to the scroll attributed to the prophet Jeremiah. 51  For these, see the articles collected in this volume on Enoch Traditions, Baruch, 2 Baruch, 4 Baruch, etc.

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In the last three decades, a new understanding of Jeremiah has emerged, and it is spreading. Thanks also to Robert Carroll, researchers have been freed from an all-too-close connection between “original” prophet and book and can now perceive in a fresh way its peculiarities. The book is an “unorthodox” composition and literary presentation and provides an enormous wealth of dialogue with other scrolls of the Hebrew Bible. The admittedly complex nature of Jeremiah thus does not appear to be the product of a series of different, disconnected interventions, but rather a deliberate scribal attempt to incorporate various motifs, ideas, and positions, to enter into a discussion with them, and to present a rich synthesis of them probably in the late Persian period, oriented towards a renewed, more personal form of piety.52 2

Disputed Issues

Against the background of the recent developments in Jeremiah research delineated above, I now want to address problems that are still undergoing discussion, and respond more directly to Robert Wilson’s paper.53 As it was the first main presentation, Wilson was invited to provide something of an account of the current state of research.54 This is not an easy task, yet he did manage to give an impression of the complicated situation. I will single out several points for discussion: (1) the issue of Jeremiah’s genesis and composition, (2) the question of the methodology applied in Jeremiah studies, and finally (3) the book of Jeremiah’s links with the prophet Jeremiah and with history. 2.1 How Did Jeremiah Come into Being? Undoubtedly, Jeremiah is highly complex. Its variations, fractures, tensions, erratic quotes, and other strange features call for an explanation. The most 52  Cf. the changes that Moshe Weinfeld, “Jeremiah and the spiritual metamorphosis of Israel,” ZAW 88 (1976): 17–56, has pointed out. 53  Partially that has happened already in part 1; however, the focus there was more on bringing out the gains, made over the last few decades of Jeremiah studies that aid our understanding of the book. 54  His introductory paper concentrated in large part on publications written in English. For an overview of additional literature, cf. the four articles on the status of Jeremiah research of Rüdiger Liwak, “Vierzig Jahre Forschung zum Jeremiabuch.” TRu 76 (2011): 131–79; 265– 95; 415–75, and TRu 77 (2012): 1–53, the last part dealing with intertextuality and reception. See also the research summaries in the books of Siegfried Herrmann, Jeremia: Der Prophet und das Buch (Erträge der Forschung; Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1990), and Fischer, Stand.

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common solution in recent historical-critical exegesis has been to assume a process of “Fortschreibung,”55 starting with some original words of the prophet Jeremiah, and evolving gradually into what is now regarded as the book of Jeremiah.56 Nobody can exclude the possibility that such a development took place over a longer period of time. On the other hand, it is nearly impossible to prove it with the means available to current scholarship. We have no texts or manuscripts of Jeremiah that show an earlier stage of its composition or allow us to detect with certainty expansions that took place prior to the final shape of the book. All that has been adduced for such processes of textual development in Jeremiah belongs to the realm of hypotheses and theories, and we should ask how probable they are. In what follows, I list some aspects to be considered in attempting to answer this question. a) Jeremiah mentions scribal activity more than any other prophetic book.57 This probably mirrors a time when writing had become more prominent; however, it remained restricted to an “elite,” that is a small group of persons with special formation and training. Writing was “both time consuming and expensive.”58 Any larger change in the composition, or addition of comments “would have required the recopying of the entire scroll.”59 Considering the difficulties and costs of rewriting a whole book of the extent of Jeremiah, it is rather implausible that Jeremiah “grew slowly over time through numer55  This is also a presupposition made by Robert Wilson, “Exegesis, Expansion, and Tradition Making in the Book of Jeremiah,” in this volume, p. 11 above: “However that may be, the process of Fortschreibung suggests that the book of Jeremiah as a whole grew slowly over time through numerous changes and additions and through the work of numerous authors and editors concerned with the meaning of Jeremiah’s prophetic activity for their own time.” He does not question this assumption but views it as solid ground. 56  The problems start already with what is regarded as “the book of Jeremiah,” as Jer exists in two very different forms: a longer version in Hebrew, accessible largely in the manuscripts of Qumran and in the tradition of MT, and a shorter in Greek, extant in the various manuscripts of the LXX. I deal with this problem in my second article in this volume. 57  Cf. Robert P. Carroll, “Inscribing the Covenant: Writing and the Written in Jeremiah,” in Understanding Poets and Prophets: Essays in Honour of George Wishart Anderson (ed. A. Graeme Auld; JSOTS 152; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1993), 61–76, and Georg Fischer, “Das Jeremiabuch als Spiegel der Schrift- und Lesekultur in Israel,” ZKT 132 (2010): 25–46, esp. 40–42; more recently in idem, Prophet, 209–27. 58  Thus Wilson, “Exegesis, Expansion, and Tradition Making,” 13, later on referring to Karel van der Toorn, Scribal Culture and the Making of the Hebrew Bible (Cambridge, Mass: Harvard University Press, 2007), 109–41 and 173–204. 59  Wilson, “Exegesis, Expansion, and Tradition Making,” 13.

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ous changes and additions and through the work of numerous authors and editors,” and this implies that the number of such “Fortschreibungen,” if at all necessary, be reduced to an absolute minimum.60 b) A second argument against a lengthy process of genesis comes from the observations above with respect to the book’s cohesion. There are many, sometimes even very special, links on various levels. Dates like “the thirteenth year of King Josiah” connect Jer 1:2 with 25:3; “the fifth month” of King Zedekiah’s eleventh year links Jer 1:3 with 52:12; and “the fourth year of King Jehoiakim” does the same for Jer 25 through ch. 46. Key motifs like the roles of the two potent foreign nations Egypt and Babylon pervade the book, displaying a twofold dynamic of reversal.61 Schemes such as giving answers to open questions or responding to exhortations earlier in the book tie together passages that are separated by a significant distance within the text and form links that persist throughout the entire book.62 These observations suggest that it is unlikely that we can separate out parts of Jeremiah and attribute different origins to them. c) Furthermore, there are many progressions throughout the book, e.g. the increase of the threat from ambiguous poetic announcements in the first part of Jeremiah to the narrated events from Jer 21 onwards, as well as the steadily growing emphasis on the fall of Jerusalem.63 The people’s rejection of Yhwh 60  Rainer Albertz, Die Exilszeit: 6. Jahrhundert v.Chr. (BE 7; Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 2001), 236–42, assumes three different Deuteronomistic redactions for Jeremiah, in addition to both “spätdeuteronomistische” and “nachdeuteronomistische Ergänzungen” in the 5th and 4th–3rd centuries—on the background of van der Toorn’s observations this seems rather improbable. Konrad Schmid, Buchgestalten des Jeremiabuches (WMANT 72; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag 1996), 434–36, accords ten successive book conceptions / stages of Jeremiah in the same time span. The thesis of a “rolling corpus,” fostered by William McKane, Jeremiah (ICC; Edinburgh: T&T Clark 1986), 1:l–lxxxiii, is mainly based on speculation and thus also remains dubious. 61  Egypt’s function is reversed, from a country out of which the exodus took place to a country into which an exodus out of Israel occurs despite divine warning (Jer 42–44). The final chapter for Egypt, Jer 46, signifies its end as an independent political power. Babylon, on the other hand, is a mighty instrument in God’s hand for his judgment, yet only for a limited time. In the end (Jer 50–51) it suffers a still greater demise than Egypt. 62  Two examples for this literary device in Jeremiah are: God answers the request to be disciplined ‫( במׁשפט‬Jer 10:24) in 30:11. The two imperatives of the prayer in Jer 14:21, to remember and not to break the covenant, find a positive response in 31:20 and in the New Covenant of 31:31–34. 63  The first scene of Jer 21:1–10, which anticipates Jerusalem’s fall, provides a theological interpretation of what is going to happen, especially in verses 4–6 and 10. Jer 26–39 increasingly concentrates more, with some deviations, on the final phase of the Babylonian siege

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is first mentioned in Jer 1:16, is heavily stressed in Jer 2, is then developed in the following chapters, and reaches its negative climax in the vow to venerate the “Queen of Heaven” in Jer 44:25. In terms of chronology, this is the very last scene reported in the book.64 This fact also speaks in favor of a unified composition. d) An argument often adduced against such a position refers to interdependence of Jeremiah and other biblical books. Holladay’s work provides an example of this, as he assumes borrowing in both directions.65 According to him, a first version of (parts of) Deuteronomy influenced Jeremiah. A second stage consisted in the growth of the Jeremiah tradition, which then, in turn, became the source for phrases in the final form of Deuteronomy. In my view, Deuteronomy as a whole was already extant when the writing of Jeremiah began, and so did many other scrolls of the Hebrew Bible (see above 1.3, 30). I cannot detect any hints of reciprocal influence with those books mentioned above. It is only with Zechariah, Psalms, Ezra, Chronicles, etc. that the direction of dependence changes. The arguments and observations mentioned above suggest: i)

Jeremiah is a very complex book, uneven, with chronological fractures and other tensions, yet at the same time intensively linked on various levels.66 ii) Because of these manifold ties in genres, motifs, dynamic, etc., it seems nearly impossible to propose previous stages of Jeremiah without tearing apart connections and destroying the thematic development of the book.67 and Jerusalem’s fall in 587 bce. Jer 52, finally, enhances the first account of Jerusalem’s capture in Jer 39 by extending it and providing important supplementary information. 64  Jer 45 and 51:59–64, as well as Jer 52 (with the exception of verses 31-34; however, these are not to be regarded as “words of Jeremiah”, as the final remark in 51:64 shows), are situated prior in time. The oracles against the foreign nations in Jer 46–51 are poetic and not primarily dealing with what Israel did. 65  Holladay, Jeremiah 2, 53–63 (cf. also note 39 above). 66  For further connecting devices throughout Jeremiah, see Benedetta Rossi, L’intercessione nel tempo della fine: Studio dell’intercessione profetica nel libro di Geremia (AnBib 204; Rome: Gregorian & Biblical Press, 2013), for the motif of intercession, and Barbara Green, Jeremiah and God’s Plans of Well-being (Columbia: University of South Carolina Press, 2013), for the overall movement of the book. 67  All the theories about the origin and the literary growth of Jeremiah to date generate more problems and questions than they solve, as they create several previous textual corpora of an emerging book that are often less coherent than what we have now in Jeremiah, and as they always remain hypothetical, without any proof, in contrast to the extant text.

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The closer analysis of the cohesion of Jeremiah and its intertextual connections thus confirms Carroll’s conclusion that at the present time, with the means available to us, we are unable to detect how Jeremiah originated. What we have and what we can investigate is Jeremiah as an obviously wellconsidered composition, most probably from late Persian times,68 and likely by one single author. This does not exclude the possible existence of earlier materials used by him. 2.2 A Question of Method a) Why were Carroll’s publications perceived as a “razor approach”? His studies lay bare a fundamental choice in biblical analyses, namely where to start. Whereas most colleagues in his time, and also in earlier historical-critical exegesis,69 concentrated on trying to find out “original” words of the prophet Jeremiah and entered into dialogue mainly with others favoring the same approach, Carroll dared to present an entirely different approach to Jeremiah. He focused his attention on the text and was sensitive to its details, nuances, varied stances, and the ideologies behind it. The profit was that he arrived at new conclusions and opened up new, more fruitful avenues to Jeremiah research. Certainly, it is neither necessary nor useful always to start from scratch; however, research may become risky and unproductive if it is built mainly on what others have said. Carroll’s work is a reminder of a basic alternative of starting with the text rather than with theories, assumptions, or presuppositions. If exegesis intends to provide serious scholarship, it should rely on data and arguments more than on conjectures, guesses, hypotheses, speculations, or positions of certain “schools.” Serious interpretation must be self-critical, aware of its limitations, and open to engagement with alternative explanations as a counterbalance to its own perspective. b) “Who is the wise person that he can understand this?” (Jer 9:11)—this question may also be addressed to our community: Who can fathom Jeremiah? What became visible above in the various levels of cohesion of Jeremiah and in its manifold and pervading intertextual connections evokes the impression of a highly condensed, extremely intricate texture in which all elements have links in many directions, inside and outside the book. Every single detail can only be explained in connection with the whole. That means that

68  This is indicated by the many references to other biblical scrolls (see above 1.3). They do not allow Jeremiah as a book to be placed earlier than the fourth century bce. 69  Examples in German-speaking scholarship of Jeremiah are Bernhard Duhm and Wilhelm Rudolph.

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knowledge of the entire book and its relationships is a prerequisite for its adequate understanding. Jeremiah is a kind of meta-text, reflecting on and interpreting earlier texts on a higher level.70 I would like to illustrate this with three examples: (i)

Jeremiah 1, the prophet’s vocation, takes up Deut 18, God’s promise to raise up a prophet like Moses in the future.71 Deuteronomy 18:18 announces: “I will put my words into his mouth.” The only explicit fulfilment of this statement within the Hebrew Bible is Jer 1:9, where God, upon touching Jeremiah’s mouth, declares: “Behold, I put my words into your mouth.”72 Without mentioning Moses here,73 Jeremiah, right from the outset, is portrayed as his divinely promised successor, equal to him. (ii) God’s message in Jer 30:18 concludes: “. . . and the city will be built on its tell.” Only a reader who is able to connect this announcement with Deut 13, the law for an apostate city, can grasp its full implications. In Deut 13, the verdict on the city is as follows: “. . . it shall be a tell forever, and never be built up again” (Deut 13:17), hinting at Jerusalem’s fate. The cluster of ‫עיר‬, ‫( בנה‬niphal), and ‫ תל‬forms an exclusive relationship between these two texts within the Hebrew Bible. Jeremiah 30 may therefore be interpreted as a revocation of God’s judgment upon Judah’s capital and as an abrogation of his own law in Deut 13.74 Without the backdrop of Deut 13, the full meaning of Jer 30:18–21 does not come to the fore. 70  In my commentary I described this phenomenon as “Wort3” (Fischer, Jeremia 1–25, 74–75), i.e., as a reflection on and exegesis of other texts (“Wort2”) trying to communicate God’s original word (“Wort1”). Mark Biddle, Polyphony and Symphony in Prophetic Literature: Rereading Jeremiah 7–20 (SOTI 2; Macon: Mercer University Press, 1996), 128, already noted “hypertextuality” as a characteristic of Jeremiah. 71  Within Deuteronomy this promise builds upon Deut 5:23–33, as the introduction (18:16–17) explicitly refers thereto; for this see Dominik Markl, “Moses Prophetenrolle in Dtn 5; 18; 34: Strukturelle Wendepunkte von rechtshermeneutischem Gewicht,” in Deuteronomium – Tora für eine neue Generation, 51–68, esp. 56–57 and 62. 72  Renate Brandscheidt, “‘Bestellt über Völker und Königreiche’ (Jer 1,10): Form und Tradition in Jer 1,” TTZ 104 (1995): 12–37, at 30, interprets this in the sense that Deut 18 is “in Szene gesetzt und dramatisiert.” 73  Moses is only mentioned once within the book, in Jer 15:1. 74  Eckart Otto, Gottes Recht als Menschenrecht: Rechts- und literaturhistorische Studien zum Deuteronomium (BZAR 2; Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2002), 76–78, building upon Fischer, Trostbüchlein, 191–92, and 207–8. There is yet another link between those two chapters, as in Deut 13:14 evildoers “coming out from the midst” ruin the city, whereas in Jer 30:21 its good ruler in the future “comes out from the midst” of the community, indicating a second reversal of the law in Deut.

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(iii) In Jer 31:9 God provides the reason for his consolation: “. . . because I will be a father for Israel, and Ephraim, he is my firstborn.” This honoring by the use of the term “firstborn” goes back to Exod 4:22, there referring to Israel. The origin of God’s promise to be a father lies in 2 Sam 7:14, where it is applied to David’s son and successor as king. Jeremiah 31:9 combines both texts and applies what had been a prerogative of the Davidic dynasty to the whole nation. With these source texts in mind, Jer 31:9 can be rightly perceived as a continuation of God’s elective choice of his people in Egypt and as a transformation of his promise to David, which is now to be applied to those coming home from exile.75 There are innumerable further instances of such links that require the knowledge of the corresponding texts for an appropriate understanding of Jeremiah. As this technique is used throughout the book, interpreting Jeremiah becomes a matter of constantly solving riddles, or putting puzzles together. It is only after having detected the manifold connections, within Jeremiah and with other scrolls on the “micro-level” of expressions and phrases that one can rightly combine the meaning of the single smaller units on the “medium level” or chapters, and finally, come to fathom the whole book of Jeremiah on the “macro-level.” c) Discussion of Jeremiah in the last century has largely been dominated by concepts like redaction, literary strata, additions, Fortschreibung, rolling corpus etc. Viewing the new avenues and observations adduced above, these no longer seem appropriate for describing the nature of Jeremiah. Exegetes today need other, more fitting terms, schemes, and “models” to explain the specific characteristics of Jeremiah. The subtitle of Louis Stulman’s book uses the expression “symbolic tapestry.”76 Jeremiah can indeed be perceived as a kind of weaving, where motifs (like Egypt, Babylon) and repetitions form threads, showing up in various places throughout the book. Given the tensions and fractures present in Jeremiah, one might even in some instances speak of a “patchwork,”77 in the sense that several pieces have been arranged in a way that looks sometimes

75  Jer 31:8 and the initial phrases of v. 9 speak of those returning from there. 76  Stulman, Order amid Chaos; cf. above (notes 16 and 26) his contribution to understanding the intertwining of prose and poetry, and the relationship of the first with the second half of Jeremiah. 77  Thus already Carroll, Jeremiah, 171, for the interpretation of Jer 4:27–28: “. . . the appearance of patchwork quilts.”

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chaotic;78 however, upon closer investigation, an elaborate design behind the sometimes seemingly disparate elements becomes visible. Earlier, in the 19th century, Friedrich Giesebrecht used the term mosaic to describe the literary technique he saw in Jer 30–31.79 His insight is confirmed for the entire book. Just as tesserae of the same color appear in various places of a mosaic, so several motifs80 occur throughout Jeremiah and allow lines of thought to be perceived in it. The many allusions and quotations from other scrolls, on the other hand, function like multi-colored tesserae, giving Jeremiah the texture of a huge, very refined, richly varied, and multifaceted image. Another term we might use to help us grasp the peculiarity of Jeremiah may be anthological. Because Jeremiah collects expressions from numerous other passages and scrolls and combines them, it resembles a bouquet of flowers displaying a selection of beautiful and precious expressions and ideas, which to a large extent are taken also from other books. Jeremiah thus, with respect to its intertextual connections, presents a kind of summary of previous scrolls, trying to provide, with them as background, an interpretation of the events at the end of the monarchy in Judah. This fits well with the aspect of “synthesis” that can often be observed within the book itself.81 2.3 The Prophet and History We have so far discussed the book of Jeremiah—can we know anything about the prophet, Jeremiah? 2 Kings is the biblical scroll that relates the events of his time, yet it does not mention him. All the information about him comes from a book that was obviously composed much later.82 Nobody can scientifically demonstrate that a word in Jeremiah stems from the prophet himself. This is not to say that no word in Jeremiah may be regarded as coming from the prophet; I only insist that we cannot prove it, and I suggest desisting from creating hypotheses we cannot verify in any way.

78  Stulman’s book uses this term in its main title; see also the title of Robert P. Carroll’s first main study on Jeremiah: From Chaos to Covenant (see note 5). 79  Friedrich Giesebrecht, Das Buch Jeremia (HAT; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1894), 161: “Mosaikbild.” 80  E.g., the list of verbs with “to tear out . . . to build and to plant” (between Jer 1:10 and 45:4, with variations), or the triad of plagues “sword, hunger, pestilence” (15 times, starting with Jer 14:12). 81  Fischer, Stand, 113, with examples. 82  It appears that the book of Jeremiah is the oldest and only source of information about the prophet Jeremiah; all the other books dealing with Jeremiah seem to be dependent on the biblical book. This means that we have no other access to the prophet.

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It is interesting to note that Jeremiah departs quite substantially from the other prophetic scrolls in that it offers an extended portrayal of the figure of the prophet. There is some sporadic information about Isaiah, Ezekiel, Hosea, Amos, and others in their books, but it is quite insubstantial compared to Jeremiah. Jeremiah even allows for the construction of a “biography” for Jeremiah that includes many details of his life.83 There are long narratives about the prophet describing events mainly from 605 bce onwards till the fall of Jerusalem in 587. Jeremiah also gives insight into the prophet’s struggles with God and with himself, thus creating the image of a true-to-life individual.84 How historical is this portrayal of Jeremiah? Nobody can prove today that what the book of Jeremiah tells us about the prophet is completely false and totally invented—the reality behind the descriptions given in the book cannot be verified. However, there are indications that some features of the prophet’s portrayal in Jeremiah might have been constructed. Jeremiah seems to resemble a summary of other important figures, incorporating features of Moses, Amos, the servant of Yhwh, etc.85 Furthermore, the strong biographical focus—not seen in the other prophetical books—on the one figure of Jeremiah as the center of his book, could be a sign of a shift in literary practices because it becomes visible in other biblical scrolls, like Ruth, Esther, Tobit, Judith, which also concentrate on individual figures and their lives. If Jeremiah originated in the late Persian period, why did it choose to talk about a period 200 years earlier, picking out a figure from then? And how does it connect with the conclusion that Jer belongs to trauma literature?86 An answer may lie in the comparison of Jeremiah with the two other large prophetic books, Isaiah and Ezekiel. 83  For the most elaborate reconstruction of Jeremiah’s life and the dates of his messages, see the appendices X and XI of Jack R. Lundbom, Jeremiah 37-52, 579–85; for a very short outline see Fischer, Jeremia 1–25, 99. 84  In narratological terms, he is a “round character,” see Jean Louis Ska, “Our Fathers Have Told Us” Introduction to the Analysis of Hebrew Narratives (SubBi 13; Rome: Pontifical Bible Institute, 1990), 84. 85  Jeremiah 1:9 presents Jeremiah as the promised successor to Moses and as equal to him. Jeremiah 1:11–16 attributes visions to Jeremiah, in a similar vein to Amos (cf. Amos 7:7–9; 8:1–3). The mention of “womb” and “for the nations” at Jeremiah’s call in Jer 1:5 is the closest parallel to the second song of God’s servant in Isa 49:1, 6. Jeremiah talks of God’s love like Hosea (e.g., in Jer 2–3, and 31), announces Jerusalem’s destruction with words from Micah (Mic 3:12, quoted in Jer 26:18), and the prophet eats God’s words, comparable to Ezekiel (Jer 15:16; cf. Ezek 2:8–3:3). 86   This insight was emphasized considerably and developed by Kathleen O’Connor, Jeremiah. Pain and Promise (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2011).

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In contrast to 2 Kgs 17, which reflected on the impact and meaning of the fall of Samaria and the Northern Kingdom, 2 Kgs 25 offers no interpretation of the significance of Jerusalem’s destruction and Judah’s loss of independence. Isaiah, although aware of this important event, does not narrate it, leaping from the late 8th century in Isa 39 to the restoration after the exile in Isa 40,87 most probably referring to events in the last third of the 6th century and even later. Isaiah thus omits a crucial incident of Judah’s history, and in this way procures a flattering image of Jerusalem in the past. Ezekiel is quite different in this regard. It relates the destruction of Jerusalem from afar, and indirectly. God announces to the prophet that he will receive a message about it (Ezek 24:25–27), and this happens in Ezek 33:21–22, with a delay of approximately half a year.88 The perspectives of these two other large prophetic books are the background for Jeremiah’s specific contribution. Jeremiah mirrors a position that opposes the “rose-tinted spectacles” of Isaiah in viewing Judah’s and Jerusalem’s past, demanding explicit involvement with its darkest era, the last decades of the monarchy and its downfall. With respect to Ezekiel and its distanced perspective, Jeremiah insists on a closer and more intense impression of this traumatic experience, in order to understand the reasons for the catastrophe and to learn from it for the future. From this viewpoint, a setting of Jeremiah in the late 4th century bce may receive new significance, as a confrontation among prophets and their different orientations.89 Isaiah projects an image of “inviolable Zion” in Isa 37–38, with a “falsification” of the historical truth regarding the Assyrian threat in 701 bce. Ezekiel channels the movement of the book towards the vastly elaborated description of the new temple in Ezek 40–48. Jeremiah, on the contrary, expands the already disheartening report of the temple’s burning and emptying still more,90 and it thus finishes the book on a gloomy note. The events 87  Isaiah 36–39 deal with King Hezekiah and his time; one focus is on King Sennacherib’s threat to Jerusalem in 701 bce. 88  Moshe Greenberg, Ezechiel 21–37 (HThKAT; Freiburg: Herder, 2005), 375. Jerusalem’s walls were breached in the fourth month, its larger houses and the temple burnt in the fifth month of the year in which the fugitive, obviously a captured Judean war prisoner, came to Ezekiel in Babylon in the tenth month. 89  With respect to Isaiah, see the article mentioned in note 43; for Ezekiel, Henk Leene has contributed a great deal (cf. note 44). 90  For the negative image of the temple in Jer, cf. Georg Fischer, “Zur Relativierung des Tempels im Jeremiabuch,” in L’Écrit et l’Esprit: Etudes d‘histoire du texte et de theologie biblique en hommage à Adrian Schenker (ed. Dieter Böhler et al.; OBO 214; Fribourg: Universitätsverlag, 2005), 87–99; recently in idem, Prophet, 337–47.

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around 600 bce offered the author of Jeremiah the opportunity to exemplify the differences between the various prophetic stances and to stress the danger and impropriety of passing over the brutal reality of this distant past and its implications. Jeremiah focuses on Jerusalem’s destruction, reflects on the reasons for it, tries to show how it could have been avoided, and transmits God’s promise of new life for those who have gone through the consequences of his judgment.91 Jeremiah thus conveys a specific theological message, where hope is built upon a penetrating analysis of the biggest disaster described in the Hebrew Bible. Hope comes from the insight that God can and will turn even such a seemingly desperate situation to the good.92 Maybe this is one reason why, in later writings, e.g. 2 Maccabees, Jeremiah became connected with the restoration of Jerusalem and its temple. The new avenues alluded to in part 1 allowed us to gain fresh insights into debated issues of Jeremiah research here in part 2. Despite more than a century of trying to understand the formation of the book of Jeremiah by means of the methods of literary-historical criticism, all proposals to date for a longer development and evolution of the book (2.1) remain problematic as they fail to explain the strong coherence of Jeremiah on various levels. This raises the question of the methodological approach (2.2); here, the image of an ideal reader for Jeremiah emerged, as one well-versed in the entire book of Jeremiah, and also in more than half of the Hebrew Bible, as its sources. Finally (2.3), the gap between the (late) composition of Jeremiah, probably at the end of the Persian era, and the prophet Jeremiah at the time of the Babylonian occupation of Judah becomes meaningful when compared with the two other large prophetic books, Isaiah and Ezekiel. Jeremiah has a specific theological message: God conveys new life to those who have experienced the consequences of his judgment, reflected on it, and acknowledged their part in it and their responsibility for it.93 91  This becomes particularly evident in the setting of Jer 24 and 29, both addressed to those exiled with King Jehoiachin, and in Jer 30–33, envisioning a future after the Babylonian destruction. 92  The phrase ‫“ ׁשוב ׁשבות‬to restore the fortunes” occurs eleven times in Jeremiah, starting with Jer 29:14, elsewhere only fifteen (or sixteen, if the two attestations in Ezek 16:53 are counted separately) times within the Hebrew Bible. For the instances see Stipp, Konkordanz, 130. 93  I am grateful to Mrs. Felicity Stephens for the correction of the English of this article, and to Dominik Markl SJ for helpful remarks.

chapter 3

Ancient Editing and the Coherence of Traditions within the Book of Jeremiah and throughout the ‫נביאים‬. A Response to Robert R. Wilson* Florian Lippke 1

Overture: What’s in a Head?

A recent donation made by U. Seidl to the Collections of the Bible+Orient Museum in Freiburg Switzerland (BOM) revealed a dynamic artefact-story behind an unusual object.1 The small stone amulet (VFig 2007.5; ills. 3.1,a-d) revealed a diachronic history of usage and recycling over thousands of years.2 It was originally the head of a larger figurine.3 Similar figurines are in terms of typology well attested from other find spots in the ancient Near East (prayer figurines).4 The head itself was seized as a trophy, reshaped and reworked in order to be displayed as a sign of victory over the foreign temple and the people who prayed to it—most likely being attached to a marvelous gown of a high ranking *  For Herbert Niehr on the the occasion of his 60th birthday. 1  Ursula Seidl, “Weiterleben eines Kopfes: Vom Beter zum Schutzgeist,” in Bilder als Quellen: Studies on ancient Near Eastern artefacts and the Bible inspired by the work of Othmar Keel (Images as sources) (ed. Susanne Bickel et al.; OBO Sonderband; Freiburg, Switz., Göttingen: Universitätsverlag; Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2007), 1–8. 2  For the discussion of multiple usage and functional contexts of archaeological material, cf. Helga Weippert, “Rez. zu Kumidi: Die Ergebnisse der Ausgrabungen auf dem Tell Kamid el-Loz in den Jahren 1963-1981,” ZDPV 114 (1998): 1–38, esp. 26–27; Rolf Hachmann, “Vorwort des Herausgeber,” in Kāmid el-Lōz 15: Die Glyptik (ed. Hartmut Kühne and Beate Salje; SB A 56; Bonn, Habelt, 1996), 9–24, esp. 16–17; and Martin Metzger, Kāmid el-Lōz 8: Die spätbronzezeitlichen Tempelanlagen (Kleinfunde) (SB A 40; Bonn: Habelt, 1993), 27–28; for complex constellations as e.g. in Wadi ed-Daliyeh, c.f. Silvia Schroer and Florian Lippke, “Beobachtungen zu den (spät-)persischen Samaria-Bullen aus dem Wadi ed-Daliyeh: Hellenisches, Persisches und Lokaltraditionen im Grenzgebiet der Provinz Yehûd,” in A Religious “Revolution” in Yehûd?: The Material Culture of the Persian Period as a Test Case (ed. Christian Frevel, Katharina Pyschny and Izak Cornelius; OBO 267; Fribourg, Switz.; Göttingen: Academic Press; Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2014), 305–88, esp. 307–8. 3  Seidl, “Weiterleben,” 3. 4  Seidl, “Weiterleben,” 3–4.

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1a

1b

1d

1c

1e

Illustration 3.1 Head amulet with a dynamic history: Originally a praying figurine reworked as a pendant on a gown, and in one of the later phases of usage plastered in order to serve as an apotropaic amulet. The different phases of usage can be compared to multiple levels of “Sitz im Leben.” The reworking and adaptation according to the implied usage can be plausibly compared to reworking and reshaping of texts in antiquity. Therefore, the object underwent a certain manner of material redaction—a material reduction in size. With regard to the artefact itself, it is quite clear that changes in genre can occur in the history of usage. Comparing the history of the object to the models implied in textual analysis certainly suggests methodological humility. It is impossible to trace easily each and every step of reshaping and redaction of objects and texts.  Accompanying text (Keel, unpublished data-sheet, Bible+Orient Museum): “Vitrine 5 Objekt 15—Der Kopf einer weiteren Beter-Figur aus der gleichen Gegend und Zeit wie Nr. 14 wurde wahrscheinlich von Feinden geköpft und diente später offensichtlich als Amulett. Der Prozess macht deutlich, wie sehr eine solche Figur den Dargestellten gegenwärtig setzte. (VFig 2007.5; um 2500 vC; Schenkung U. Seidl).”

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military official. Later on the head was reworked and plastered in order to serve as an apkallu-amulet with apotropaic strength.5 In other words it is possible to identify at least two actions of recycling and three different (diachronic) stages of usage for the artefact. This mechanism has hardly been researched in the field of ancient media objects. It is, however, possible to show that this very mechanism is attested for other objects from amulet jewelry contexts, and also in macroscopic genre types of the material culture of the biblical world.6 For another example of the reworking and reshaping of an amulet object, one could think of the hand-amulet ÄA 1983.1243 (BOM, below, ill. 3.2).7 It was originally an amulet dating to the 26th Egyptian Dynasty (664–525 bce), which underwent a remarkable transformation or reinvention in Islamic epochs when it was reworked with a new fitting for an amulet bead. In our case the reworking of the object(s) mentioned above can—in terms of method—be linked to a certain field of research: The methodological step in literary-historical research connected to reshaping, reworking, and reuse of a text in other contexts is generally referred to as “redaction history.”8 This is found for a certain number of Hebrew verses/sentences that are reused in another literary work arising from a later epoch. For example one might think of elements of the annals (of the kings of Judah) reused within Deuteronomistic contexts throughout the books of Samuel and Kings.9 The same mechanisms—however, in a different media category—are observable with objects from antiquity as seen above. In other words, the aforementioned amulets underwent a process similar to redaction history. There are good reasons to try a comparison of the analogous mechanisms in order to gain a deeper understanding of reusing, reshaping, and redactional activity in media 5  Seidl, “Weiterleben,” 4. 6  Cf. description of ill. 1 and 2 below. 7 Christian Hermann and Thomas Staubli, 1001 Amulett: Altägyptischer Zauber, monotheisierte Talismane, säkulare Magie (Freiburg, Switz.; Stuttgart: Bibel+Orient Museum; Katholisches Bibelwerk, 2010), 130. 8  Odil H. Steck, Exegese des Alten Testaments: Leitfaden der Methodik, ein Arbeitsbuch für Proseminare, Seminare und Vorlesungen (12th ed.; Neukirchen-Vluyn, Neukirchner Verlag, 1989), 75–95 as well as Helmut Utzschneider and Stefan A. Nitsche, Arbeitsbuch literaturwissenschaftliche Bibelauslegung: Eine Methodenlehre zur Exegese des Alten Testaments (Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 2001), 247–68; also Siegfried Kreuzer and Dieter Vieweger, Altes Testament—Ein Arbeitsbuch: Proseminar 1 (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1999), 95–102. 9  Cf. among many others Herbert Niehr, “Die Reform des Joschija,” in Jeremia und die “deuteronomistische Bewegung” (ed. Walter Groß; BBB 98; Weinheim: Beltz Athenäum, 1995), 33–55.

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Illustration 3.2 Hand amulet used at least twice in different epochs. Originally used in Pharaonic Egypt as a symbol of power and strength, in later epochs the piece was reused and reframed, then becoming part of an Islamic bead with a contemporary fitting (redactional frame cf. the books of Deuteronomy and Job). Reuse of spoils is not restricted to a certain size. As demonstrated with small pendants, the recycling of symbols and iconographic or written content is also attested with larger artefacts as large as the size of building blocks. Therefore, another trace of redactional processes apart from exclusively written media can be presented. Catalog text (Herrmann and Staubli, 1001 Amulette, 10-11, 130): “1 Altägyptische Hand mit Silberfassung aus islamischer Zeit. Weißes Kompositmaterial mit hellblauer Glasur | 28 × 12 × 6 mm | Ägypten | 26. Dyn. (664-525 v. Chr.) | Sammlungen BIBEL+ORIENT, ÄA 1983.1243 | Müller-Winkler 1987: Kat. 243 | Die Handamulette haben die Monotheisierung der altägyptischen Religion selbst in den bildkritischen Varianten des Judentums und des Islams überdauert. Ein schöner Beleg für die Kontinuität des Motivs ist die in islamischer Zeit in Silber gefasste Hand aus der 26. Dynastie.”

of the Mediterranean World—including images and texts. This topic could serve as a worthwhile case study for one separate aspect of a “history of media in the biblical world” (cf. 4.). In the present context it is of great importance that the redaction history of the amulet head (ill. 3.1) is mainly a history of reduction and is connected with loss of information and data.10 When comparing this observation in object media with the method used for literary oeuvres, one should state that without a physically preserved Vorlage, the reconstruction of earlier phases is a very hypothetical task. The redaction-historical method for texts is at the present point of research ill-equipped to account for the shortening of texts,

10  Seidl, “Weiterleben,” 5.

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reductions, and loss of details. One might even formulate the limits of the method in this very respect.11 2

The Limits of Interpreting the Redaction of a Text

Taking the paragraph above seriously, the limits of exegetical methods force us to abandon a positivistic attitude towards textual analysis and allow us at a certain point only to face a “non liquet.” In several cases this is a more historical statement than hypercritical analyses that divide chapters into an unlimited number of redactional hands and sub-phases.12 Especially when it comes to the theological yield of such analysis, the pure redactional effort is not always worth the investment. These general observations are not directly aimed at R. Wilson’s position in this volume.13 Even if these lines were originally thought to be a response-paper,14 the first two sections (1. and 2.) are a general statement in order to contextualize the process of historic-diachronic interpretation of the Hebrew Bible. From this perspective, a deep skepticism arises when discussions are too centered on redactional layers. Tradition history and the history of religion should be considered as an important methodological option for producing highly relevant theological results—sometimes in contrast to a hypercritical use of redactional criticism in this regard. Therefore, the present paper focuses on aspects outside the scope of conventional textual

11  Florian Lippke, “Verbindungslinien: Historische alttestamentlich-religionsgeschichtliche Anstöße zum Christlichen Orient anhand ausgewählter biographischer Fallstudien,” in Christlicher Orient im Porträt—Wissenschaftsgeschichte des Christlichen Orients und seiner Nachbarwissenschaften: Kongressakten der 1. Tagung der RVO (4. Dezember 2010, Tübingen) (ed. Predrag Bukovec; Hamburg: Kovac, 2014), 13–50, esp. 15–18; the arguments presented are to a certain extent dependent on Erhard Blum, “Notwendigkeit und Grenzen historischer Exegese: Plädoyer für eine Alttestamentliche Exegetik,” in Theologie und Exegese des Alten Testaments, der Hebräischen Bibel: Zwischenbilanz und Zukunftsperspektiven (ed. Bernd Janowski; SBS 200; Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 2005), 11–40, esp. 12–23. 12  Lippke, “Verbindungslinien,” 16, 30, 46–49. 13  Wilson, “Exegesis, Expansion, and Tradition-Making in the Book of Jeremiah,” in this volume, 3–21. 14  I am indebted to the evaluating committee of the Conference “Jeremiah’s Scriptures— Production, Reception, Interaction and Transformation” for awarding this paper as “best contribution to the conference (paper/response) e.ae.” on behalf of the the ETH Zurich/ CSF, Monte Verità. I am also indebted to Hindy Najman and Konrad Schmid for including this article into the present volume.

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growth models. Additional perspectives on the production of texts and on how texts are perceived shall be introduced. 3

Jeremiah among the Prophets

Two main goals will be addressed in the main section: 1)

2)

Understanding textual development (Fortschreibung) and redaction in the first millennium bce: Caution should be employed with respect to ancient scribal culture (processes), including options of scribal interaction with the text. This point is broadened in order to nuance the contribution by Wilson. Understanding the traditions that make up the world of the Bible (i.e., the texts and images contributing to the religious symbol system): Jeremiah’s worldview in comparison to Ezekiel and in comparison to other prophetic corpora should be taken into account. This point is addressed in order to broaden the literary and theological perspectives on the book of Jeremiah in general.

Understanding Textual Development (Fortschreibung) and Redaction in the First Millennium bce 3.1.1 There are a variety of different literary genres to be traced throughout the book of Jeremiah.15 Mixing of genres is certainly an interesting observation to be made in collections of religious documents/sources. One could, for example, investigate the different genres in the Kirta Epic (KTU 1.14–1.16), the Baʿal Cycle (KTU 1.1–1.6 + 1.8), the Raph’iuma texts (KTU 1.20– 1.22), and other ritual collections (among them KTU 1.161) from Ugarit.16 The 3.1

15  See Wilson, “Exegesis, Expansion, and Tradition-Making,” 5, but also the vast detailed evidence provided by Georg Fischer, Jeremia 1–25 (HTKAT; Freiburg: Herder, 2005) and Georg Fischer, Jeremia 26–52 (HTKAT; Freiburg: Herder, 2005); furthermore in a concise version Georg Fischer, Jeremia: Der Stand der theologischen Diskussion (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2007). 16  Cf. Adrian Curtis, “Ilimilku of Ugarit: Copyist or Creator?, in Writing the Bible: Scribes, Scribalism and Script (ed. Philip R. Davies and Thomas Römer; BibleWorld; Durham: Acumen, 2013), 10–22. and the more detailed analysis exemplarily for the Baʿal-Cycle by M. Smith and W. Pitard in Mark S. Smith, The Ugaritic Baal Cycle: Volume 1 Introduction with text, translation and commentary of KTU 1.1–1.2 (VTSup 55; Leiden: Brill, 1994) and Mark S. Smith and Wayne T. Pitard, The Ugaritic Baal Cycle: Volume 2 Introduction with text, translation and commentary of KTU/CAT 1.3–1.4 (VTSup 114; Leiden: Brill, 2009).

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same is true for collections of Egyptian papyri (among them e.g. PAmherst, PWestcar, PInsinger) and the well-known collections on cuneiform tablets (Sammeltafeln! ).17 However, the closely related epigraphic data from the first millennium bce is also quite relevant for this question. While short Phoenician inscriptions from Byblos (KAI 1–10) more likely present monogenres,18 the longer Northwest Semitic epigraphic attestations from the Eastern Mediterranean tend to consist of striking compositions with regard to genre. Could the Balaʿam inscription from Tell Deir Alla (KAI 312), the KulamuwaInscription from Sam’al (KAI 24), or the Azitawada-reliefs from Karatepe (KAI 26) be fully explained by one simple genre?19 The answer is most likely negative, and it is clear from the evidence at hand that within certain condensed sources an axiom of “diachronic significance of genre change” cannot be generally upheld.20 17  Lorenza M. Mascheroni, “A proposito delle cosidette Sammeltafeln etc.,” in Studi di storia e di filologia anatolica dedicati a Giovanni Pugliese Carratelli (ed. Fiorella Imparati; Eothen Studi sulle civiltà dell’Oriente antico 1; Firenze: Ed. Librarie Italiane Estere ELITE, 1988), 131–45. 18  Herbert Donner and Wolfgang Röllig, Kanaanäische und aramäische Inschriften (KAI) (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1962–2002). 19  For Deir Alla see Erhard Blum, “Die Kombination I der Wandinschrift vom Tell Deir ʿAlla: Vorschläge zur Rekonstruktion mit historisch-kritischen Anmerkungen,” in Berührungspunkte: Studien zur Sozial- und Religionsgeschichte Israels und seiner Umwelt (ed. Ingo Kottsieper, Rüdiger Schmitt, and Jakob Wöhrle; AOAT 350; Münster: Ugarit Verlag, 2008), 573–601; also idem, “‘Verstehst du dich nicht auf die Schreibkunst . . .?’: Ein weisheitlicher Dialog über Vergänglichkeit und Verantwortung (Kombination II der Wandinschrift vom Tell Deir ʿAlla),” in Was ist der Mensch, dass du seiner gedenkst? (Psalm 8,5): Aspekte einer theologischen Anthropologie (ed. Michaela Bauks, Kathrin Liess, and Peter Riede; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 2008), 33–55. For Kulamuwa see Josef Tropper, Die Inschriften von Zincirli: Neue Edition und vergleichende Grammatik des phönizischen, samʾalischen und aramäischen Textkorpus (ALASP 6; Münster: Ugarit Verlag, 1993), 27–46. For Azitawada see Wolfgang Röllig, “Appendix I: The Phoenician Inscriptions,” in Corpus of Hieroglyphic Luwian Inscriptions: 2. Karatepe-Aslantaş: The Inscriptions: Facsimile Edition (ed. John D. Hawkins; Untersuchungen zur indogermanischen Sprach- und Kulturwissenschaft N.F. 8,2; Berlin: de Gruyter, 1999), 51–81, also idem, “Sinn und Form: Formaler Aufbau und literarische Struktur der Karatepe-Inschrift,” in Light on Top of the Black Hill (ed. Güven Arsebük; İstanbul: Ege Yayınları, 1998), 675–80 and idem, “ ‘Und ich baute starke Festungen an allen Enden auf den Grenzen . . .’: Zur Bedeutung der Inschriften und Reliefs vom Karatepe-Aslantaş,” in Lag Troja in Kilikien?: Der aktuelle Streit um Homers Ilias (ed. Christoph Ulf and Robert Rollinger; Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2011), 115–33. 20  Discussion could, however, arise with the material from Sidon: the inscription of Eshmunazôr II. bears some significant changes that could be interpreted in diachronic

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3.1.2 The book of Jeremiah surely provides an example from biblical literature for the mixed composition of genres, but one should also keep in mind other alterations of genre in the Tanak—each span of about 50 chapters could serve as a test case. The alteration of narration and law in the Pentateuch (for poetry and prose see below), the different genres being covered by the title Nebiim (e.g. Former Prophets in comparison to Latter Prophets) or the different genre attestations for the Ketubim (Ecclesiastes should not be subsumed under a single genre label with Job or Song of Songs) bear witness to these changes. In addition, the highly intertwined literary and textual history for both Jeremiah MT and LXX creates a difficult scenario.21 It is one of the most complex relationships within the whole Hebrew Bible, and it is necessary to keep this “complex literary history” in mind when text growth models are discussed.22 Test cases play an important role, especially when the plausibility of a model is concerned. Is the hypothesis of a certain textual growth also still valuable if all the different attestations/versions are taken into account? Does a growth model of the MT also function for the attestations found in LXX, Qumran, and the other ancient versions? After accounting for the complex textual history, the strict focus on layers becomes increasingly problematic.23 This could be true due to the—to a certain extent—artificial nature of the layer concept that does not always reflect processes of written media in the time of their production.24 terms, cf. Herbert Niehr, “Die phönizische Inschrift auf dem Sarkophag des Königs Ešmunazor II. aus Sidon (KAI 214) in redaktionsgeschichtlicher und historischer Sicht,” in Ritual, Religion and Reason: Studies in the Ancient World (ed. Oswald Loretz et al.; AOAT 404; Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 2013), 297–309. 21  Wilson, “Exegesis, Expansion, and Tradition-Making,” 9; cf. the contributions by Eibert Tigchelaar and Mladen Popovic in this volume. 22  Wilson, “Exegesis, Expansion, and Tradition-Making,” 4.11. 23  Cf., however, the arguments by A. Klein in this volume. 24  The whole concept is substantially challenged not only by the mechanism we now can trace through empirical studies. The variety of options of redactional processing creates complexity (see 3.1.6 below). The distinction between biblical and extra-biblical interpretation has also changed from static to dynamic. The only way to keep the differentiation between biblical and extra-biblical interpretation firm and straight is to neglect completely the evidence we find in Qumran and the ancient MT and LXX versions. With both aspects in mind (complexity of traditions in the versions and complexity of the instruments of redaction), it is unconvincing to employ a traditional layer model for the case of Jeremiah. An adequate understanding of the processes should emphasize the “continuity of the line of interpretation” (cf. Kugel below) and reflect the dynamics of literary development (cf. Carroll below). In this case, humility with regard to models and caution in advocacy/favor of the text are virtues. In general the dynamics of the whole

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3.1.3 Assigning different genres to different (groups of) scribes/redactors, i.e. “dividing according to material”25 is a highly oversimplified (German: “unterkomplex”) scenario. The underlying axiom is that a scribe is only able to produce or to contribute one sort of genre. We will see in the course of the arguments that this conception is inadequate (cf. 3.1.8). Furthermore, it is even worse to characterize the different sequences of genres as “main material” and “disturbance.”26 When considering questions of methodological controls for historical-critical operations, it should be plainly determined what the decisive indication for a “disturbance” would be. In most cases the criteria for such a division are born out of an anachronistic understanding of the perfect appearance of a “prophetic text.” Therefore, the whole analysis tends to be anachronistic and leads to unbalanced results. The problems of similar approaches and implied methodologies are clear when viewing the research on the prophetic corpus by Duhm.27 The notion of the “true prophet” present in a fraction of the book and “epigones” that destroy the genre is—albeit the virtual sharp distinction that is presented—still an arbitrary one. As a result, such attempts to understand the literary history of a prophetic book should be discussed more within the field of “reception” and the “history of interpretation” and not in the field of “history of production.” Sometimes the correspondence between ancient text and the method applied is completely lacking. There are plenty of indications that the basic questions of antique aesthetics had different foci than we today would suppose and that the criteria for a plausible and well-written text differ from our modern positions substantially. 3.1.4 The above discussion has addressed some of the most problematic aspects of composition-criticism, which are too often overlooked. Basic principles are far too seldom taken into account. However, comparison with the methodologies used for other media could prove helpful. For instance iconography makes use of an artistic convention known as aspective rendering.28 process of tradition and transmission can be labelled “creative.” Cf. the worthwhile contribution by Bernard M. Levinson, Der kreative Kanon: Innerbiblische Schriftauslegung und religionsgeschichtlicher Wandel im alten Israel (Tübingen: J.C.B. Mohr (P. Siebeck), 2012), which precisely articulates this point in the recent discussion. 25  Cf. Wilson, “Exegesis, Expansion, and Tradition-Making,” 4–7. 26  Wilson, “Exegesis, Expansion, and Tradition-Making,” 4, with reference to Benjamin Blayney, Jeremiah and Lamentations (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1784). 27  Bernhard Duhm, Das Buch Jeremiah (KHC 11; Tübingen: Mohr, 1901), but cf. also Bernhard Duhm, Das Buch Jesaia (HKAT 3,1; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1892). 28  Florian Lippke, “Skizzen zu ägyptisch-theologischen Kosmogonien und Schöpfungs­ konstellationen: Überblick und Anknüpfungspunkte,” in Kosmologie, Kosmogonie, Schöpfung (ed. Rainer Hirsch-Luipold and Andreas Grünschloss; Ratio Religionis Studien

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Why is this mechanism exclusively attributed to iconographic sources and not also to texts? There are plenty of literary scenarios (Gen 1–2; 6–8; Exod 14–15; Judg 4–5) where the concept of aspective rendering could be applied in order to understand the composition as compliant with the ancient Near Eastern cultural tradition—by the way in both literature and iconography.29 Postulating a multitude of different hands is in such cases neither necessary nor reasonable. Therefore, the formula cannot be “one (group of) scribe(s) equals one genre.” As Wilson puts it: This interpretation is “too narrow.”30 And for the discussion of laments, there is certainly no rule stating that laments or other types of genres are exclusively exilic or exclusively postexilic. Tradition history and the history of genres do not work in the clear-cut way that many interpreters attempt—it is a projection onto antiquity. An exile is not necessary for this particular genre, as Blum has once-and-for-all argued with the Tell Deir ʿAlla inscription in mind.31 The basic differentiation in salvation oracles belonging to preexilic and judgment oracles to postexilic production is, in that respect, no longer reliable. 3.1.5 When it comes to over-simplified interpretation, there is a long history of positivism that can be traced in the history of research (see above). In addition, problems of transmission are highly relevant. When dealing with the corpus of the Hebrew Bible, all exegetes suffer from a severe deficiency of data. To a certain extent, the so called “canon” can—in philological and literary terms—be understood as a product of contingency. This is also true with regard to genres. First of all, not all genres are equally represented (compare certain psalms in the poetic inventory of the Hebrew Bible), nor are all ancient genres part of the literary compilation of the canon. For example, rituals are nearly unattested, but they were certainly part of the liturgical practice in the first millennium temples throughout Israel (Judah, Samaria, and beyond).32 2; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, forthcoming). An explanation of the term “aspective” can be found in Emma Brunner-Traut, “Epilogue: Aspective,” in Principles of Egyptian Art (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1986), 421–48, 426. 29  Cf. the implications of Thomas Römer’s article in this volume on this multifocal rendering of history and narration. 30  Wilson, “Exegesis, Expansion, and Tradition-Making,” 12. 31  Erhard Blum, “Israels Prophetie im altorientalischen Kontext: Anmerkungen zu neueren religionsgeschichtlichen Thesen,” in From Ebla to Stellenbosch: Syro-Palestinian Religions and the Hebrew Bible (ed. Izak Cornelius and Louis Jonker; Abhandlungen des Deutschen Palästina-Vereins 37; Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2008), 81–115 and several articles on prophecy and the plaster inscription mentioned above. 32  For a moderate balance between the extreme positions of “inspired canon” and “literary random collection” see Lippke, “Verbindunglinien,” 14–15.

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So attestation of one genre must not be automatically considered as an indicator for any textual process of redaction. Another highly relevant aspect coincides with these observations. The introduction (1.) of this article mentioned how dynamic a development in diachronic dimensions can be.33 In the context of ancient media, a genre can also change: A praying figurine is transformed to a pendant on a textile and later can be reused as an apotropaic amulet. These shifts of genre are substantial, and only by chance do we glimpse a certain part of the genre history. Separating different genres in the book of Jeremiah and theorizing about certain layers that are in direct connection with these genres are only possible when one is convinced about a certain “immutability of genres” (axiom). In other words, separating and diachronic grouping of genres is only possible when the genre before and after redaction was the same. The studies of objects collected here present a strong challenge to this axiom. From this perspective the sameness or self-identity of literary compilations is addressed, which leads to the next argument. 3.1.6 When it comes to Fortschreibung and related models, the shining example of oversimplification is addressed. Interpretation and Fortschreibung are of course closely connected since the process of redaction always comprises an intention.34 In other words, Fortschreibung is a form of interpretation. At that particular point, Wilson’s positions are close to the basic assumptions made by Kugel:35 both are writing a history of interpretation and assigning the translators and redactors a (quite) extensive role in the formation of the Hebrew Bible. But the self-identity or sameness (Selbigkeit) of the text from one (redactional) edition to the next is highly questionable.36 Strictly speaking texts were not “sacrosanct from the beginning”37 and were not only completed by adding content. We have empirical examples from the New Testament (e.g., how Luke and Matthew carry out Fortschreibung of [Proto-]Mark) and also from cases within the Hebrew Bible: From Kings to Chronicles and from Genesis– Exodus to Jubilees. The clearest example is the Temple–Scroll (Qumran). In this case it is evident that the redactors were not exclusively concerned with

33  See, therefore, the steps from figurine to amulet according to Seidl, “Weiterleben.” 34  See, therefore, Kugel’s contribution in this volume. 35  James L. Kugel, ed., How to Read the Bible: A Guide to Scripture, Then and Now (New York: Free Press, 2007). 36  Blum, “Notwendigkeit,” 24–26, focuses on literary history; also Lippke, “Verbindunglinien,” 17. 37  Christoph Levin, Der Jahwist (FRLANT 157; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1993), 441, cf. Blum, “Notwendigkeit,” 17, and with respect to text-reductions, Lippke, “Verbindungslinien, ” 16.

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adding new information.38 Adopting information, modifying it, gross conflation, fine conflation, reformulation with or without reference to the Vorlage are among the devices.39 For the whole argument in context, as again Blum has emphasized, the positions presented by M. Tsevat, D. Clines, J. Tigay (and their affiliated research groups) should be taken into account.40 It is important to stop focusing exclusively on the method of subtracting verses and calling it proper reconstruction. However, subtraction of verses in the course of composition criticism does work for reconstruction of earlier layers, when the historical process of the text-development was exclusively additive. The limits of such a model can clearly be formulated. As soon as there are subtractive stages in the history of a certain text passage—which cannot generally be verified in the text’s final form—a good part of the system collapses. Focusing on the head-amulet once again (1.), subtraction (of material) is the major part in the history of development from praying figurine to apotropaic amulet. After having stated all these points, it is clear that a thoughtful and fair position should be closely linked to the suggestions by R. Carroll,41 favoring the model of a rolling corpus. One should keep this in mind as a valuable option, while at the same time combining it with a methodological caution for the reconstruction of textual layers.42 3.1.7 The book of Jeremiah is by no means the most homogenous composition within the Hebrew Bible. But this view is once again in danger of 38  Blum, “Notwendigkeit,” 17–19, including the link to George F. Moore, “Tatian’s Diatessaron and the Analysis of the Pentateuch,” JBL (1890): 201–15 and the empirical test case by Kaufmann (see following footnote). 39  Stephen Kaufman, “The Temple Scroll and Higher Criticism,” HUCA 53 (1982): 29–43, demonstrates all these operations and evaluates the chances of foreseeing which measures would take place at which points is “Next to impossible.” 40  Matitiahu Tsevat, “Common Sense and Hypothesis in Old Testament Study,” in Congress Volume Edinburgh 1974 (ed. International Organization for the Study of the Old Testament; VTSup 28; Leiden: Brill, 1975): 217–30, David J. A. Clines, “Story and Poem: The Old Testament As Literature and As Scripture,” Int 34 (1980): 115–27, James H. Tigay, Empirical Models for Biblical Criticism (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1985). 41  Robert P. Carroll, “Surplus Meaning and the Conflict of Interpretations: A Dodecade of Jeremiah Studies (1984–95),” CurBS 4 (1996): 115–59; Robert P. Carroll, “Century’s End: Jeremiah Studies at the Beginning of the Third Millennium,” CurBS 8 (2000): 18–58. 42  Christof Hardmeier, Textwelten der Bibel entdecken: Grundlagen und Verfahren einer textpragmatischen Literaturwissenschaft der Bibel (Textpragmatische Studien zur Literaturund Kulturgeschichte der Hebräischen Bibel 1, Teilband 1,2; Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 2003), for an analysis addressing the main issues of compositional criticism see Jürgen Werlitz, Studien zur literarkritischen Methode: Gericht und Heil in Jesaja 7,1-17 und 29,1-8 (BZAW 204; Berlin: de Gruyter, 1992).

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introducing anachronistic criteria. A diachronic approach is necessary, but it can only lead to proper results if the whole spectrum of editing techniques is taken into account since Fortschreibung in antiquity was never exclusively limited to adding content (see above).43 A modern view could also address the changes between “prose” and “poetry” throughout the book as a possible starting point for a division of the material (as a mode of source criticism). In addition to the anachronistic fallacy and the fact that such an approach completely neglects aspective rendering (cf. 3.1.4), there is a more profound obstacle: the definition of “poetic” and the relationship between prose and poetry. At first sight it seems simple to differentiate between the books of Samuel and the book of Psalms; however when undertaking detailed analysis, the poetic character of nearly each biblical book and chapter can be observed (cf. the arguments by Blum;44 these positions are of course present in discussions by M. Weiss, R. Alter, M. Sternberg,45 and they are carried further by Y. Zakovitch, for example). Methodology again faces substantial problems in order to find a clear cutoff between the categories. The phenomenon of the “poeticism of text-traditions” not only holds true for the biblical compositions but also for the corpus of Northwest-Semitic inscriptions.46 The case becomes even more complex in the discussion of the interdependence of “prose” and “poetry.” The most poignant examples such as the Deborah tradition in Judges and the Red Sea episodes in Exodus are important test cases. At this point a— hence modified—redactional perspective is introduced with the question of juxtaposition/ sequencing of content. This is a basic question in early rabbinic interpretation (“Why is A next to B?”) as Y. Zakovitch has shown (in fruitful

43  In this respect the problem of the so called canonical version of Jeremiah is addressed— and the substantial obstacles for comparing the different versions; a convincing solution of priority for all chapters has not yet been presented, see also 3.1.3. 44  Blum, “Notwendigkeit,” 28–33 and idem, “ ‘Formgeschichte’—ein irreführender Begriff?,” in Lesarten der Bibel: Untersuchungen zu einer Theorie der Exegese des Alten Testaments (ed. Helmut Utzschneider and Erhard Blum; Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 2006), 85–96, esp. 86, 94. 45  Meir Weiss, “Wege der neuen Dichtungswissenschaft in ihrer Anwendung auf die Psalmenforschung,” Bib. 42 (1961), 255–302; idem, The Bible from Within: The Method of Total Interpretation (Jerusalem: Magnes, 1984 [Heb. 1967]); idem, “Einiges über die Bauformen des Erzählens,” VT 13 (1963): 456–75; Robert Alter, The Art of Biblical Poetry (New York: Basic Books, 1985); Meir Sternberg, The Poetics of Biblical Narrative: Ideological Literature and the Drama of Reading (Indiana literary biblical series; Bloomington, Ind.: Indiana University Press, 1985). 46  Cf. the articles by Röllig cited below.

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cooperation with A. Shinan).47 However, in this respect the main focus is not on the separation of material but much more on the theological motivation of composition. 3.1.8 Leaving out the material background of scribal culture,48 and therefore assuming a multitude of layers in the book, is a sort of anachronism. There are long circles of reworking and redactional processes so that a high frequency of redactions and alterations of a given text is not very plausible. In some cases the postulated number of redactional steps would not fit the time-frame of transmission: too many editions in too short a period of time. Prices of material, specialists, and storage are far too seldom taken into account. 3.1.9 Scribes had multiple functions in society.49 Therefore, there is a large number of intensions that could be inscribed in the process of one single redaction.50 This is a final strong argument against traditional genre theory. Since scribes copied different sorts of texts (tetrad, decad, and other nearly canonical compositions of different genres!) during their curriculum, they were capable of variety of literary production. In addition there are multifaceted motivations beside the one that was formulated by the commissioning and financing institution (temple, court, and palace);51 van der Toorn offers a deep and multi-perspective understanding of these processes.52

47  Yair Zakovitch, ‫( מבוא לפרשנות פנים מקראית‬Introduction to Inner-Biblical Interpretation) (Even Yehuda: Rekhes hotsaʾah le-or, 1992); idem, “Juxtapositionen im Buch der Psalmen (‘Tehillim’),” in Das Manna fällt auch heute noch: Beiträge zur Geschichte und Theologie des Alten, Ersten Testaments (ed. Frank L. Hossfeld; HSB 44; Freiburg: Herder, 2004), 660–73; idem, “The Interpretative Significance of the Sequence of Psalms 111-112.113-118.119,” in The Composition of the Book of Psalms (ed. Erich Zenger; BETL 238; Leuven: Peeters, 2010), 215–28; idem, “Psalm 82 and Biblical Exegesis,” in The Moshe Weinfeld Jubilee Volume: Sefer Moshe/Studies in the Bible and the ancient Near East, Qumran, and post-Biblical Judaism (ed. Chaim Cohen; Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 2004), 213–28. 48  Wilson, “Exegesis, Expansion, and Tradition-Making,” 11.13–14, makes that point clear, integrating the material basis and theological intentions into a plausible model), see furthermore Hans Ulrich Steymans and Thomas Staubli, eds., Von den Schriften zur (Heiligen) Schrift: Keilschrift, Hieroglyphen, Alphabete und Tora (Freiburg, Switz.; Stuttgart: Bibel + Orient Museum; Katholisches Bibelwerk, 2012). 49  Wilson, “Exegesis, Expansion, and Tradition-Making,” 14. 50  Wilson, “Exegesis, Expansion, and Tradition-Making,” 14. At the same time there are possible scenarios where different redactors worked on the same topic. A differentiation in this case in methodology is untraceable. The field addressed by these phenomena is often titled “issues of significance,” cf. Blum, “Notwendigkeit,” 15. 51  Wilson, “Exegesis, Expansion, and Tradition-Making,” 15. 52  Karel van der Toorn, Scribal Culture and the Making of the Hebrew Bible (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2007).

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3.2 Understanding the Making of Tradition in the World of the Bible 3.2.1 Texts and images both contribute to the religious symbol system.53 Considering the title of the conference “Production, Reception, Interaction and Transformation,” it is clear that a substantial part of interpretation should take (the) tradition history into account (see above 2. and 3.1.4). In the contribution by Wilson we find the term “tradition making,” which is closely linked to the questions of motifs, ideas, and even concepts in the text and behind the text.54 One of the basic insights for this part of the discipline was formulated at the beginning of the 20th century. Practicing as well as theorizing about religion is a symbolic act.55 The goal in this respect is to reconstruct the religious symbolic system of ancient Israel.56 For many exegetes the textual record is the one and only core of tradition. But it should be clear by now that the textual record should be linked to the iconographic data, to the semiotics of space (revealed by archaeology), and to many other disciplines.57 In analyzing the

53  Florian Lippke, “The Southern Levant in Context: A Brief Sketch of Important Features Related to the Religious Symbol System in the Bronze Ages,” in Egypt and the Near East—the Crossroads: Proceedings of an International Conference on the Relations of Egypt and the Near East in the Bronze Age, Prague, September 1–3, 2010 (ed. Jana Mynářová; Oxford: Oxbow, 2011), 211–34, esp. 211–13, 221–28; also Florian Lippke and Wolfgang Baur, “Blick über den Tellerrand (Grundfragen): Wie die Archäologie religionsgeschichtliche Perspektiven eröffnet,” Welt und Umwelt der Bibel 75 (2015), 80–83 as well as Florian Lippke, “GGG (Göttinnen, Götter und Gottessymbole) im forschungsgeschichtlichen Kontext: Zugleich ein Nachwort zur 6. Auflage,” in Keel/Uehlinger, GGG, 6. Aufl. 2010, cf. fn. 56, 570–82. For the Persian epochs, cf. Schroer and Lippke, “Beobachtungen,” 310–11, 328, 355, 361–67 and for a general analysis, Lippke, “Verbindungslinien, ” 19–22, 34 as well as idem, “‘Über den Jordan’ oder ‘zum Bach Ägyptens’?: Zur Frage der ägyptischen Einflüsse auf die südlevantinischen Tod- und Jenseitsvorstellungen,” in Jenseitsvorstellungen im Orient: Kongressakten der 2. Tagung der RVO (3./4. Juni 2011, Tübingen (ed. Predrag Bukovec and Barbara Kolkmann-Klamt; RVO; Hamburg: Kovac, 2013), 65–100, esp. 65–70, 88. 54  Steck, Exegese des Alten Testaments, 126–49, Thomas Krüger, “Überlegungen zur Bedeutung der Traditionsgeschichte für das Verständnis alttestamentlicher Texte und zur Weiterentwicklung der traditionsgeschichtlichen Methode,” in Lesarten der Bibel: Untersuchungen zu einer Theorie der Exegese des Alten Testaments (ed. Helmut Utzschneider and Erhard Blum; Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 2006), 233–45, for the iconographic basis see Othmar Keel and Christoph Uehlinger, Göttinnen, Götter und Gottessymbole: Neue Erkenntnisse zur Religionsgeschichte Kanaans und Israels aufgrund bislang unerschlossener ikonographischer Quellen (Freiburg, Switz.: Academic Press, 2010). 55  For Cassirer and his theory see Lippke, “Verbindungslinien,” 19–20, with bibliography. 56  Lippke, “Verbindungslinien,” 19–23 with an approach focusing on biographical aspects of scholars (Cassirer, Braudel, Geertz, Halbwachs, Assmann, Keel, and Janowski). 57  Beside others, ethnography (Dalman) and comparative ancient studies.

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motifs and the imagery of Jeremiah, one finds abundant use of many different topics of traditions and motifs.58 3.2.2 Keel has argued for a significant pattern that is traced within the book of Jeremiah.59 As a preliminary result, one can state that connection between imagery of prophetic action and rural life experience is one of the major characteristics of Jeremiah. This conclusion matches the background information, namely that Jeremiah belongs to the offspring of the rural Anathoth family (Jer 1:1). Therefore, the literary atmosphere of a specific milieu is created: yoke (ill. 3.3, Jer 27), cooking pot (ill. 3.4, Jer 18), water carafe (ill. 3.5, Jer 19), and rod of the almond tree (ill. 3.6, Jer 1) definitely belong to this kind of background. As Keel emphasizes, Ezekiel demonstrates a quite different pattern. Complex visions (throne and chariot in complex constellations, ills. 3.7, 3.8, 3.13, Ezek 1), Egyptian cult objects (ills. 3.9–3.12, Ezek 8:20) including a special practice of burning incense (ill. 3.14, Ezek 8), and many more can be seen as the background of an elite “metropolis” priest used to cultic practice and international religious concepts. Ezekiel was familiar with these highly complex and speculative visions and “Denkbilder” (thought pictures)—Jeremiah was more focused on the realia, employing symbols well known from daily life. These differences considering imagery and symbolic background are easily observed in the course of both prophetic books, although they are somewhat relativized by the mass of imagery employed in the ca. 50 chapters of each collection. A clear comparison of the detailed pattern should be investigated in future and would reveal many nuances of prophetic theology, for the material background and references to realia are key for understanding biblical literature and its message in the biblical world. 3.2.3 Since Jeremiah and Ezekiel are not separate from the other prophetic books, it is reasonable to connect the insights from Jeremiah’s and Ezekiel’s religious symbolic systems with other attestations. In addition to the book of Isaiah, it is especially helpful (for questions on imagery and motifs) to consult the Book of the Twelve. If one starts with Amos, then the reader is confronted with primarily rural imagery, consisting of locusts (Amos 7:1–3), agriculture (Amos 7:1–6), and summer crops (Amos 8:1–3), but also more militant divine 58  Again Georg Fischer, Jeremia 1–25 (HTKAT; Freiburg: Herder, 2005) and Georg Fischer, Jeremia 26–52 (HTKAT; Freiburg: Herder, 2005) with the overwhelming data presented. 59  Othmar Keel, Die Geschichte Jerusalems und die Entstehung des Monotheismus (OLB 4,1–2; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2007), 619–715 with the chapters on Jeremiah and Ezekiel as well as a comparison of their perspectives. Many of the iconographic examples originate presented here are from earlier publications or were discussed in Fribourg seminars; the author of this article is indebted to his teacher and research colleague, Othmar Keel, for his help.

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3 Illustration 3.3

A yoke like the one used in Jeremiah’s prophetic actions to allude to the political and social constellations in the present and the future for the addressed audience (Jer 27). This illustration is drawn in a schematic manner by Gustaf Dalman, Arbeit und Sitte in Palästina (Gütersloh: Bertelsmann, 1928–1942) 2: fig. 21b. Dalman contextualizes several passages in the book of Jeremiah by combining the expressions in MT with the exact part of the ancient yoke (ibid., 93–102; Jer 2; 27; 28; 30; 51). The imagery of Jeremiah in this case is clearly inspired by the daily agrarian rural work of Southern Palestine. The description by Dalman is: “Das südpalästinische Joch.”

4 Illustration 3.4 The cooking pot is part of the traditional daily life equipment in antiquity. The clear reference to this object in the course of Jeremiah’s prophecies and actions (e.g. Jer 18) once again alludes to the rural anchors of the literary images. The prophetic signs depicted are not characterized by complexity or elitist priestly theological discourse; cf. for the illustration Ruth Amiran, Ancient Pottery of the Holy Land: From Its Beginnings in the Neolitic Period to the End of the Iron Age ( Jerusalem: Massada, 1969), e.g. pl. 76, 14.  Catalog text (Keel, unpublished data-sheet, Bible+Orient Museum): Vitrine 2 Objekt 26 “Kleiner Kochtopf für Saucen und Brühen, in die man das tägliche Brot tunkte. Alltagskeramik spielt in der Verkündigung des Propheten Jeremia eine wichtige Rolle. So sieht er in seiner Berufungsvision einen dampfenden Kochtopf ( Jer 1,13)—VW 1975.13; ca. 750–600 vC; Schenkung Verein Bibel+Orient.”

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Illustration 3.5 The water carafe ( Jer 19) can be placed—just as described in ill. 4—under the label of everyday pottery, although not of the cheapest variety! Well known to the broad public who would not have frequent contact with the theological iconographic constellations in the temple cult and in priestly discourse. Catalog text (Keel, unpublished data-sheet, Bible+Orient Museum): Vitrine 2 Objekt 27—“II 27 Der Wasserkrug heisst hebräisch baqbuq nach dem glucksenden Geräusch, das beim Ausgiessen des Wassers entsteht. Jeremia zerschmettert eines dieser relativ kostbaren Gefässe in Anwesenheit von Zeugen und vergegenwärtigt so das Gericht, das Jahwe Jerusalem androht ( Jer 19)”—VW 1975.14; ca. 700–600 vC; Schenkung Verein Bibel+Orient.”

Illustration 3.6 The rod of an almond tree ( Jer 1:11–12) is, on one hand a typical example for the use of flora in the book of Jeremiah; at the same time it is used in a wordplay for prophetic interaction. The basis for the theological impact is once again rooted in the agrarian imagery of the Southern Levant in the Iron Age. For the drawing see Michael Zohary and Naomi Feinbrun-Dothan, Flora Palaestina II/2: Part 2 (Platanaceae to Umbelliferae) (Publications of the Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities. Section of Sciences; Jerusalem: Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities, 1972), ill. 32. Keel, Jerusalem, 450: “Ein blühender Mandelzweig; hebr. heisst Mandelbaum šaqed ‘Wachsamer’, weil er im Frühjahr als erster blüht. Kein Mensch käme auf die Idee, die beiden Propheten hätten eine ganz verschiedene Bilder- und Vorstellungswelt benützt. In Wirklichkeit können sie jedoch verschiedener kaum sein. Das zeigen bereits die Berufungsvisionen im je ersten Kapitel der beiden Bücher mit aller Deutlichkeit. Jeremia sieht ganz alltägliche Dinge (1,13f ), zuerst einen Mandelzweig (maqqel šaqed).”

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7 Illustration 3.7 Complex constellation comparable to the vision in Ezek 1. In this example the heavenly vault is carried by two composite beings (human, bovine); the sun god is standing on a horse (common attribute), while the whole scene of a complex theophany is observed by priests. This is precisely the situation one might imagine for Ezekiel while receiving his inaugural vision. The constellation is typical for the background of Ezekiel and presents a distinct understanding of temple theology contrary to the aspects depicted in certain passages in the book of Jeremiah.  Object data (BODO database, relying on research carried out by Keel-Leu and Tessier): “Rollsiegel, Halbopal, 36,7 × 15,5 mm | Zeit Assurbanipals, 669-631/629 a | Fribourg, Sammlungen BIBEL+ORIENT, VR 1981.110, OBO 200: 236 | Adorations-/Verehrungsszene vor Gott auf Pferd, fünffigurig, axialsymmetrisch komponiert.“ Keel, Jerusalem, 700, 469: “Der großen Vision in Ez 1 liegt ein Schema zugrunde, das den Himmel zeigt, der von zwei(dreidimensional: vier) Stiermenschen gestützt wird; beim vorliegenden Beleg wird der Himmel durch eine Feste (hebr. raqiaʿ) und den Sonnengott repräsentiert, der von ‘Recht und Gerechtigkeit’ begleitet ist; der Sonnengott wird zusätzlich zu den Flügeln durch sein Attributtier, das Pferd, identifiziert (7. Jh.a).”

8

Illustration 3.8 The Persian rendering of the constellation (ill. 3.7) adds two pairs of wings for each of the composite bovine creatures. These angel-like genii still support the vault but can also be seen as attributes of the sun god appearing in the winged solar-disk. The details show even more affinity to the merkavah vision (Ezek 1). C. f. Keel, Jerusalem, 700. For the image, Donald J. Wiseman and Bedřich Forman, Götter und Menschen im Rollsiegel Westasiens (Prague: Artia, 1958) fig. 102.

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Illustration 3.9–3.12 Veneration of Egyptian deities (in theriomorphic form) is a wellattested feature on the stamp-seal amulets, which were either Egyptian imports or local productions.  Ill. 3.9 Stamp seal from Ashkelon depicting a baboon on a throne venerated by two humans lifting hands and goods. In front of the representation of Thoth (often as baboon or ibis), a cultic vessel is depicted. Object data (Keel, BODO): Othmar Keel, Corpus der Stempelsiegel-Amulette aus Palästina/Israel: Von den Anfängen bis zur Perserzeit (Katalog vol. I [Tell Abu Farag bis ʿAtlit]; OBO.SA 13; Freiburg, Switz., Göttingen: Universitätsverlag, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1997), Aschkelon 77; “Sk Gravur flächig mit Schraffur, Enstatit, weiss, 16,1 × 11,4 × 6,75 mm. In waagrechter Anordnung der Pavian des Thot, der auf einem schraffierten hochkant gestellten Rechteck hockt; sein Schwanz hängt lang herunter . . .; vor ihm ein ḥz-Gefäss; rechts davon präsentiert ihm eine Figur, die auf den Waden hockt, zwei Gefässe, mindestens das rechts scheint das traditionelle kugelige Weingefäss zu sein; hinter ihm erhebt eine zweite kniende Figur verehrend die beiden Arme; rechts und links vom Kopf des Pavians eine Sonnenscheibe; Datierung 25.-26. Dyn. (728-525) mit Fundkontext Grid 38, Square 74, Feature 380; Zerstörung von 604 a; heute im Aschkelon, Laboratory, Registration Nr. 38314.” Ill. 3.10 presents the greeting gesture of veneration by a human figure in front of a hawk (Horus) on a nb-sign and attributed with an Egyptian scepter. Object data: Schech Zuweijd (Southern Palestine), William M. F. Petrie and J. C. Ellis, Anthedon Sinai (BSAE 58; London, British School of Archaeology, 1937), pl. 6, 28. Ill. 3.11 renders a bizarre mixture of crocodile and hawk being venerated; cf. William M. F. Petrie, Naukratis I (1884-1885) (London, Trübner, 1886), pl. 38, 176. The fourth illustration (ill. 3.12) depicts a kneeling venerator with a vessel in front of the hippo goddess Taweret. This goddess was important for birth rites in Egypt and was adopted as a familiar symbol in Southern Palestine. The piece depicted, however, is to be attributed to the Egyptian Mediterranean Koiné—this piece was not excavated in Palestine/Israel, but similar objects form that region could be easily added. Scarab from Cerveteri (Italy) with the throne-name of Psammetichus I. (664–610 a), cf. Günther Hölbl, Beziehungen der ägyptischen Kultur zu Altitalien (Leiden: Brill, 1979), pl. 74, Nr. 2bc (110).

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13 Illustration 3.13 The reliefs from the cella of the ʿAin Dāra temple depict the foundations and pillars of heaven rendered as a mountain deity and two composite beings (elements of lions, bovines, and vultures). These foundation scenes are likewise a visualization of the complex understanding of the divine cosmos in images. Considering complexity and subject, they are once again closely related to the written attestations in the book of Ezekiel.  Description and object data according to Silvia Schroer, Die Ikonographie Palästinas/Israels und der Alte Orient: Eine Religionsgeschichte in Bildern (vol 3. [Die Spätbronzezeit]; IPIAO 3; Freiburg, Switz.: Academic Press, 2011), 406–7 (IPIAO 3:983): “In der Cella des Tempels von ʿAin Dāra wurden mehrere Basaltreliefs gefunden, die in der Mitte jeweils einen bärtigen Berggott mit erhobenen Armen zeigen. Er trägt eine hohe Hörnerkappe und einen Schuppenrock mit Zacken, die das hervorbrechende Quellwasser symbolisieren dürften. Hier wird er von zwei Stiermenschen flankiert, die ebenfalls die Arme heben, auf Parallelstücken von zwei Löwenmenschen und zwei Mischwesen mit Greifvogelkopf und -flügeln. Die Stiermenschen, die schon seit der Akkad‑Zeit mit Schamasch und dem Himmel verbunden sind, sind aus Yazılıkaya als göttliche Stiere Scherisch und Churrisch bekannt, die auf der Hieroglyphe “Erde” stehen und die Hieroglyphe “Himmel” stützen. ʿAin Dāra, 38 km nw Aleppo (Syrien). Cella des Tempels, Sockelrelief an der Schauseite des Podiums, E 1 (132). Sockelplatten, reliefiert: Basalt. 58 × 100 × 30 cm. Aleppo, National Museum.”

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14 Illustration 3.14 Burning incense with a special hand cassolette is a typical Egyptian custom in the Iron Age, whereas local and northern traditions more often use altars and chalices. Ezekiel 8:11 presents the connection to the Egyptian traditions: “In front of them stood seventy elders of Israel, and Jaazaniah son of Shaphan was standing among them. Each had a censer in his hand, and a fragrant cloud of incense was rising” (NIV). Ezekiel has knowledge of the complex temple rituals that are also internationally present and which are a central part of his experience in the cultic milieu. The process described in Ezekiel can be compared with the iconographic attestations from Egypt, c.f. Peter Munro, Die spätägyptischen Totenstelen (ÄF 25; Glückstadt: Augustin, 1973), 297, BM 808, ill. 151; Keel, Jerusalem, 707.

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15 Illustration 3.15 Old Babylonian terracotta relief depicting a female deity (typical clothing) stepping over a rampart with battlements and gate (cf. gate traditions of the Bronze Age in the Eastern Mediterranean). She is armed with several weapons (mace and stick) while trampling down opponents. In so doing she is acting against the city. The whole constellation can be compared with the vision of God standing on the wall/rampart (Amos 7:7–9) and to the inevitable fate of the secure city (Amos 3:6).  Uehlinger, “Der Herr auf der Zinnmauer,” 97–98, ill. 104: “Altbabylonische Terrakottaplakette aus Larsa (1800-1600 a). Die in einer Form gepresste, teilweise stark abgegriffene Reliefdekoration der Plakette . . .  zeigt eine nach rechts ausschreitende kriegerische Göttin, mit Schlitzrock, Schal und gedrehtem Gürtel sowie offenbar einer Breitrandkappe bekleidet, über eine durch zinnenbewehrte Türme und Mauern mit einem Torbogen dargestellten Stadt. Die Göttin hält in der gewinkelt nach vorn gestreckten Linken sowie in der herabhängenden Rechten Waffen, . . . für diese kriegerische Göttin typisch. Die Darstellung zeigt eine Variante des Motivs der kriegerischen Göttin auf der Stadtmauer, (die) mit Waffen in der Hand und gegen die . . . Stadt mit Waffengewalt handelnd dargestellt ist.”

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aspects, e.g. the deity standing on the (city-)rampart (Amos 7:7–9) and harming the temple (Amos 9:1–4). The imagery present in the book of Amos is in part close to the portfolio of images of Jeremiah, especially when it comes to the visions of locusts, fire, and summer crops. All these examples could be contextualized with everyday experience. The setting changes somewhat with the rampart as well as the temple vision. Even for the unusual setting of a god standing on a city wall, Uehlinger was able to find a very close iconographic rendering from Babylonia (ill. 3.13).60 Similar to the vision of YHWH standing on a rampart, this image displays a divine protagonist attacking the city, which is no longer safe. The loss of all security is also the core message of the later visions in Amos 7–9, culminating in the earthquake that harms the temple. While the rural imagery is closer with Jeremiah’s conceptions, the rampart (Babylonian context?) and the temple devastation could be connected to the complex renderings in Ezekiel. 3.2.4 So is there a chance to identify different tradents according to the imagery and the traditions located in the text? This solution for the compositional history of the book of Amos is tempting. However, as already stated for the history of genres, the same methodological caution should be applied for the tradition history. There are different traditions and substantially different backgrounds for the various visions in Amos, but a strictly diachronic division is a far too hypothetical interpretation. Amos and also the (potential) redactors of Amos were certainly capable of referring to different images at the same time (3.1.7–8), and they would have been able to return to the same topic with only slight differences in language. 3.2.5 While historic precision for traditions is impractical (see 3.1.5 above), there is perhaps a historic-archaeologic anchor for discussing the literary starting point of the books of Amos and Jeremiah in the preexilic period. Amos and Jeremiah seem somewhat comparable in some chapters (rural character), and we could also add other voices from the Book of the Twelve. Among the stronger voices is Micah from Moresheth-Gath. As the number of excavated sites in Palestine-Israel increases, the importance of the Shephelah for understanding the historic development of the biblical world is rising.61 The complex situation between dependence on Philistia, Judah, and Assyria, as well as local dynamics create a special situation for the sites of Beth Shemesh, Azekah, Qeiyafah, Socho, Judeideh (=Moresheth-Gath!), and Lachish. The archaeological results relevant for this topic are remarkable. It is possible to understand the issues 60  Christoph Uehlinger, “Der Herr auf der Zinnmauer: Zur dritten Amos-Vision (Am. VII 7-8),” BN 48 (1989): 89–104. 61  Lippke, “GGG Nachwort,” 580–82.

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addressed by Amos, Micah, and perhaps the preexilic core of Jeremiah very well from the material background during preexilic Iron Age, for example, the Shephelah. The economic and social problems in that area could be understood as reflected by the core of the prophetic tradition in the preexilic centuries. In this case the reason for the prophetic (literary) activity would not be mere intellectual exchange in postexilic scribal centers but deeply rooted in the history and the material culture of the earlier epochs. As we know from the dependence of biblical literature on the realia and events of the biblical world, such a scenario would add more possibilities for dating many of the prophetic traditions without relegating them to later centuries.62 4

A Final Note on Method

Research focusing on the history of media from the biblical world has arisen during the last decades. Texts and images should be discussed in a holistic manner as cultural expressions in order to understand the symbolic systems more adequately. This is not equivalent with “searching for a fitting iconographic attestation” to given biblical texts. Although such a phenomenological approach can be interesting in revealing certain ideas and realia, there is a stronger potential for images that can be integrated in the discussion in a more substantial manner. The basic approach should analyze images and texts separately from one another and avoid mingling the types of media too quickly. As we have learned from various studies, text and images do not always tell the same story. This is extremely clear when Greek vases are compared with the written mythic tradition. There are scenes found on pottery that definitely do not match the written tradition and vice versa.63 The reason for this difference is the fact that text and image are not exclusively dependent on each other. There are—as Jan Assmann proposed—pre-mythic complex constellations of 62  Cf. for the archaeological discussion Gunnar Lehmann, “Archäologie in der Welt der Bibel,” Cardo 9 (2011): 5–12, as well as for a recent analysis of the Shephelah, Gunnar Lehmann and Hermann M. Niemann, “When Did the Shephelah Become Judahite?,” TA 41 (2014): 77–94. In the context of their recent finds (Qubur al-Walaydah), both authors also claim that the archaeology of the Shephelah can answer certain questions about the economy of the preexilic communities, which seems to fit the situations constantly addressed in the prophetic literature. Of course the aspects presented here emphasize the importance of a project of archaeological contextualization as published by Philip J. King, Jeremiah: An Archaeological Companion (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1993). 63  Schroer and Lippke, Anmerkungen, 339 with the references to Sian Lewis.

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meaning present in various cultures.64 They can be rendered in text, in image, or in both media. There is, however, often no need to have attestations in both media genres at the same time. Directly linking text and image is always in danger of overlooking these specific developments in the constellations. A more historical approach would establish a catalog of analytic methodological steps that are accounted for first before linking the intension and content of an image with the intension and content of a text. The scholarship of literature from the last two hundred years can be taken as a basis for establishing meth­ o­dological steps for an iconographic method. This can happen in agreement with and dissenting from the textual method. At the same time there is always a linking aspect that the analogous methodological steps have in common (readability of the source (1), structure of the source (2), non-material dependencies (3), contextualization of motif/theme/tradition (4) and diachronic reworking of the source (5)): Text (1) Textual Criticism (2) Composition-Analyses (3) Form and Genre (4) History of Tradition (5) History of Redaction

Image Quality Criticism Sequence-Analyses Form and Genre History of an Iconographic Motif Diachronic History of an Object

This should be considered a preliminary methodology that has to be discussed in future case studies and can only be mentioned briefly at this point. The idea behind this approach has already been stated: In order to understand adequately the biblical tradition in the biblical world, it is necessary to broadening the cultural horizon.65 This can only happen by including other ancient media. However, this step of integration can only be achieved by employing a careful method in the process. Therefore, the coming decades would ideally work out a clear methodology of pre-Hellenistic media in order to understand better Jeremiah and all the prophets from text, image, and cultural background. Only with such a holistic approach can the coherence of traditions within the book of Jeremiah and throughout the ‫ נביאים‬be discussed in light of a broader scope in order to understand their production, reception, interaction, and transformation also in the theological realm.

64  Keel and Uehlinger, GGG, 13. 65  Lippke and Baur, Tellerrand.

chapter 4

Prophets, Princes, and Kings: Prophecy and Prophetic Books according to Jeremiah 36 Friedhelm Hartenstein 1

Introductory Remarks

Jeremiah 36 is not only one of the most famous biblical texts dealing with the arrogance of rulers but also an outstanding testimony of the selfconsciousness of the tradents of prophecy. In this narrative, the editors of Jeremiah’s oracles obviously reflect on their own mediation and composition of prophetic messages.1 There is a growing consensus that the narrative of the burnt and rewritten scroll took shape in circles of professional scribes, but it is an open question whether the chapter in part or as a whole originates from the times of the Prophet Jeremiah or—more likely—from later successors of his supporters among Judean state officials. In any case, biblical and archaeological evidence show that from the 8th to the 7th century bce, the textual culture in Judah advanced to a degree of widespread writing skills and a broad knowledge of literary forms, at least within the educated elites. In the times of the Assyrian hegemony in the Levant, especially after the downfall of the northern state of Israel, literacy and writing flourished.2 In the latter half of the 7th century bce, we have good reasons to assume the genesis of the first historiographical works of considerable size as well as of prophetic literary compositions (like early versions of the books of Amos, Hosea, and Isaiah).3 The preconditions for such literary production are set in the Iron Age states of Israel and Judah as part of an international world of an empire—a fact 1  “Jer. 36 [. . .] is a literary creation designed to incorporate the scribal influence into the Jeremiah tradition” (Robert P. Carroll, From Chaos to Covenant: Uses of Prophecy in the Book of Jeremiah [London: SCM Press, 1981], 15). An explicit awareness of the (ambiguous) possibilities of the medium of scripture seems to be part of many biblical narratives, not only from prophetic sources; cf. Thomas Schaack, Die Ungeduld des Papiers: Studien zum alttestamentlichen Verständnis des Schreibens anhand des Verbums katab im Kontext administrativer Vorgänge (BZAW 262; Berlin, New York: de Gruyter, 1998). 2   See, e.g., Konrad Schmid, Literaturgeschichte des Alten Testaments: Eine Einführung (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2008), 41–51, 52–54. 3  Cf. Schmid, Literaturgeschichte, 73–108 (“Die Literatur der Assyrerzeit [8./7. Jh.v.Chr.]”).

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that never changed in the following centuries under Babylonian, Persian, and Hellenistic rule. Since the Assyrians incorporated Israel into their system of provinces and forced Judah to perform the duties of a vassal, there was always an impact of royal propaganda, organizational practice, and transcultural exchange in Judah, and later on Yehud.4 With this in mind, we are speaking of a sophisticated scribal culture of ancient Israel.5 Traditions were written, handed down, and reworked over centuries (probably necessary as well by the practical need for the regular replacement of the writing media like papyrus). As many studies have shown, the prophetic books of the Hebrew Bible, with Jeremiah being one of the foremost examples, must be understood as complex literary compositions, products of an ongoing inner-biblical interpretation and reworking.6 It has often been noticed in this regard that Jer 36 as it stands presupposes the prophet’s oracles as a whole. It seems to understand the scroll as a compendium and summary of all relevant “words of YHWH from the mouth of Jeremiah” (v. 2, 4) “concerning Israel, and Judah, and all the nations” (v. 2). This marker of content (roughly in line with the structure not only of Jeremiah but also of other prophetic books) exceeds by far what we observe directly in the narrative. Since we do not get any specific information about what was written on the scroll, the story hints at least at one oracle of judgment involving Judah and the nations: this only instance where the message is specified is in v. 29, when we hear of the imminent “coming” of Nebuchadnezzar, who will desolate the land. Furthermore, there has been much attention to the fact that in the very last verse we hear that “many similar words were added” to the rewritten scroll (v. 32b). It is most convincing to understand the qatal niphal nōsap here as an intentionally impersonal formulation that encompasses all

4  For the impact of Assyrian royal propaganda on the books of (Proto-)Isaiah and the Psalms cf. Peter Machinist, “Assyria and its Image in the First Isaiah,” JAOS 103 (1983): 719–37; Friedhelm Hartenstein, Das Archiv des verborgenen Gottes: Studien zur Unheilsprophetie Jesajas und zur Zionstheologie der Psalmen in assyrischer Zeit (BThSt 74; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 2011). 5  See, e.g., Karel van der Toorn, Scribal Culture and the Making of the Hebrew Bible (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2007); Joachim Schaper, ed., Die Textualisierung der Religion (FAT 62; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck 2009). 6  As an overview, cf. Jörg Jeremias, “Prophet/Prophetin/Prophetie II. Altes Testament,” RGG4 6: 1694–99; idem, “Prophetenbücher,” RGG4 6: 1708–15; Odil Hannes Steck, Die Prophetenbücher und ihr theologisches Zeugnis: Wege der Nachfrage und Fährten zur Antwort (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1996), 127–204 (“Prophetische Prophetenauslegung”); Reinhard G. Kratz, Die Propheten Israels (C. H. Beck Wissen 2326; München: C. H. Beck, 2003).

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the further anonymous stages of growth in the book.7 When chapter 36 is read in the light of v. 32b, it seems natural to take the story as a paradigm for how the writers viewed scriptural prophecy.8 Such a reading certainly is important (and I will come back to it at the end). But it misses perhaps the actual situation of Jer 36, where a specific event in the period of late preexilic Judah is reported to underline the word of YHWH that prevails against obstacles, even the king himself. It has often been noted that the story’s description of its world is surprisingly detailed with respect to proper names and topographical information. This has been taken as possible proof of historical reliability (if not of an eyewitness then of a valid tradition in the context of the stories in chapters 26–45).9 Having these different aspects in mind, it seems probable to distinguish at least two literary layers in the text that cannot be easily or sufficiently separated since the second layer dominates the reading:10 It is, first, a relatively 7  Cf. Christoph Levin, Die Verheißung des neuen Bundes in ihrem theologiegeschichtlichen Zusammenhang ausgelegt (FRLANT 137; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1985), 147– 48, 149 footnote 5; Konrad Schmid, “Nebukadnezars Antritt der Weltherrschaft und der Abbruch der Davidsdynastie: Innerbiblische Schriftauslegung und universalgeschicht­ liche Konstruktion im Jeremiabuch,” in Schriftgelehrte Traditionsliteratur: Fallstudien zur innerbiblischen Schriftauslegung im Alten Testament (FAT 77; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck 2011), 224–41 (esp. 226). 8  See, e.g., Jörg Jeremias, “Das Proprium der alttestamentlichen Prophetie,” in Hosea und Amos: Studien zu den Anfängen des Dodekapropheton (FAT 13; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck 1996), 20–33 (esp. 28–29). 9  Cf., e.g., Wilhelm Rudolph, Jeremia (3d. ed.; HAT I/12; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1968), 229: “die genauen Zeit- (1.9) und Ortsangaben (10.12.20.22), dazu die Fülle von Personennamen, auch bei Nebenfiguren, verraten den Augenzeugen” (Rudolph like Duhm before him [in his famous commentary: Jeremia [KHC XI; Tübingen, Leipzig: Mohr Siebeck, 1901], XIV–XV, 288–89]) considers Baruch the author and eyewitness of the events. Winfried Thiel finds very few traces of his D-redaction in ch. 36, which he judges as part of Baruch’s scripture too; cf. idem, Die deuteronomistische Redaktion von Jeremia 26–45 (WMANT 52; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1981), 49–51. Sceptical with regard to the “authenticity” and historical value of the chapter are Gunther Wanke, Jeremia Teilband 2: Jeremia 25,15–52,34 (ZBK.AT 20/2; Zürich: TVZ, 2003), 331–33; and Georg Fischer, Jeremia 26–52 (HThK.AT; Freiburg: Herder, 2005), 285–87. 10  See the recent reconstructions of a literary growth of Jer 36 (with some coincidence): Hermann-Josef Stipp, Jeremia im Parteienstreit: Studien zur Textentwicklung von Jer 26; 36–43 und 45 als Beitrag zur Geschichte Jeremias, seines Buches und judäischer Parteien im 6. Jahrhundert (BBB 82; Frankfurt am Main: Anton Hain, 1992), 73–129; modified in idem, “Baruchs Erben: Die Schriftprophetie im Spiegel von Jer 36,” in “Wer darf hinaufsteigen zum Berg JHWHs?”: Beiträge zu Prophetie und Poesie des Alten Testaments, Festschrift für S. Ö. Steingrímsson (ATSAT 72; St. Ottilien: EOS, 2002), 145–70; cf. the synopsis of the text layers of Jer 36 in ibid., 157–60: fragmentary basic layer (late prexilic/exilic): vv. 5–6a, 8a,

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older narrative of Jehoiakim burning a scroll with oracles from Jeremiah that soon afterwards has been produced anew. And second, a later expansion that makes use of the former stage to look at the grand design of YHWH as the main actor in world history, communicating His plans by the means of prophetic books. This layer shapes especially the beginning and the end of the chapter. In this article I want to investigate both traits, with more emphasis on the first one: In the next step (2.), I will investigate the issue of writing and its reflection as means of prophecy in Jer 36. It is no coincidence that the main actor in the text—so to speak—is the scroll with the oracles of Jeremiah (named as mĕgillāh or sēpˍer no less than twenty times). It seems that the scroll is deliberately used to reflect the divine-human communications of which prophecy is an outstanding part. These communications as lined out in Jer 36 shall be analyzed closer with respect to the supporters of the prophet (3.) and to the behavior of the king (4.). In the end I will return to the overall perspective of prophecy and prophetic books as suggested by v. 32b (5.). 2

The Way of the Scroll: Jeremiah 36, a Narrative Reflection on Prophecy

2.1 The Structure of Jeremiah 36 Jeremiah 36 as a whole is a deliberate compositional unit with three main parts.11 In the exposition (part 1: vv. 1–8) and in the final part (part 3: vv. 27–32), the actors are YHWH, Jeremiah, and the scribe Baruch. The longest section is placed within this frame (part 2: vv. 9–26) and instead focuses on the characters Baruch, the princes, and the king. YHWH here is only present indirectly within the words read from the scroll (and once in the voice of the narrator in v. 26b MT). The beginning and the end of the narrative contain the first and the second commands by God to Jeremiah to “take” a scroll and to write on it all the 14–16, 20–27a, bα, 28–30; “Patrician” layer (postexilic): vv. 1–4, 6b–7, 8b–13, 17–19, 27bβ, 31–32; Christof Hardmeier, Geschichtsdivinatorik in der vorexilischen Schriftprophetie: Studien zu den Primärschriften in Jesaja, Zefanja und Jeremia (Zürich: TVZ, 2013), 209– 42, esp. 218–25; cf. the synopsis of the proposed layers of Jer 36 in the supplement of the volume (E1–E4) and the list of verses (218): primary layer: vv. 9–10*–26 (time of Jehoiakim); secondary layers: a) time of Zedekiah: vv. 27–32*, b) Deutero-Jeremianic: vv. 1–8, 9–10*, 30aβ, 31, 32b; another quite different reconstruction of the composition/ redaction of the chapter offers Harald Martin Wahl, “Die Entstehung der Schriftprophetie nach Jer 36,” ZAW 110 (1998): 365–89. 11  Cf. Wanke, Jeremia Teilband 2 (cf. footnote 9), 331.

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words of YHWH. The prophet himself does not accomplish the task personally in either section but delegates it to his servant Baruch, the scribe. They work as a kind of unit, one of them dictating, the other writes (v. 4 // v. 32a). It is not absolutely clear whether Jeremiah is understood to be capable of writing and reading himself, but this seems probable since in v. 5 Jeremiah declares that he is restrained (passive participle ʿāṣūr) from entering the temple, maybe from reading there himself (note further that as part of the same tradition, in Jer 29, the prophet writes to the exiles in Babylonia).12 This is why he sends Baruch to communicate the words from the scroll aloud in public (v. 6). In my view, the production of the scroll is, in the first place, a separate act from Baruch replacing Jeremiah in the temple. In YHWH’s initial command, nothing hints at later limitation of the scroll to this particular purpose. But it is designed to be an instrument of a possible repentance on the part of the people (v. 3). This indicates, therefore, that it aims at a broader audience in space and time. 2.2 The Date of the Fast and Its Significance Two dates appear in v. 1a and v. 9—according to the Masoretic text—showing that the task and its final execution take place within a longer time span of roughly a year. The initial instruction of the prophet and the preparation of the entrance of the scroll is set in the fourth year of Jehoiakim (v. 1a). It was only in the ninth month of the fifth year of Jehoiakim (the year of Nebuchadnezzar’s siege of Ashkelon: 604 bce) when a day of fasting was proclaimed in Jerusalem (v. 9) and the scroll fulfilled its purpose. The date of a military incursion by the Babylonians in the vicinity (MT) fits into the usual setting of a collective mourning ritual (ṣōm “fast”) to prevent evil and to placate divine wrath.13 In the exposition (Jer 36:6), such a fast was deliberately named by Jeremiah in his instructions to Baruch as the right occasion for the reading of the scroll with the additional theological explanation that “maybe” (’ūlay v.7 cf. Amos 5:15) YHWH will be then be open to the people’s prayers and their repentance of their evil ways (a perspective of reading that presumably belongs not to the first, but to the second literary level of the story).14 12  Cf. Ina Willi-Plein, “Spuren der Unterscheidung von mündlichem und schriftlichen Wort im Alten Testament”, in Sprache als Schlüssel: Gesammelte Aufsätze zum Alten Testament (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 2002), 116–29 (esp. 117). 13  Cf. for this ritual institution and its history Thomas Podella, Ṣôm-Fasten: Kollektive Trauer um den verborgenen Gott im Alten Testament (AOAT 224; Kevelaer: Butzon & Bercker / Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener, 1989); ibid., 187–89, for Jer 36. 14  For the concept of divine wrath used by the tradents in Jer 36:7 see Jörg Jeremias, Der Zorn Gottes im Alten Testament: Das biblische Israel zwischen Verwerfung und Erwählung (BThSt 104; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 2009), 110–11.

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2.3 The Way of the Scroll It is illuminating to follow the way of the scroll as the story unfolds in the main section (vv. 9–26). It starts with the reading in the temple by Baruch, more precisely in the rooms of Gemariah, son of Shaphan, a scribe of high rank (v. 10). From there the scroll and its bearer find their way into the presence of the king of Judah. This happens in two steps. First, Micaiah, the son of Gemariah, hears the initial reading of the words and instantly informs the princes (śārîm), the high officials. They are the key figures surrounding the king, sketched out in the narrative as loyal to the court and at the same time independent to a certain degree. The story focuses strongly on their attitude since they decide that the words on the scroll are, on the one hand, a matter of state and therefore should be reported to the king at once. But, remarkable on the other hand, they order Baruch and Jeremiah to hide, “and let no one know where you are” (v. 19). They do all this without informing the king because they obviously anticipate and try to avert Jehoiakim’s command in v. 26: to seize Baruch and Jeremiah. Due to this precaution, the bearers of YHWH’s words stay in hiding and the scroll can actually be produced anew. It is important to note that the narrative seems to identify that among the larger group of the high officials of administration there was a smaller one of royal servants that were the direct attendants to Jehoiakim (v. 21b: “all the princes standing before the king,” v. 24: “the king and all his servants”).15 It seems that the two groups overlap both personally and functionally as the names in the narrative show (v. 25), but with somewhat different loyalties: This can be seen, for example, in the fact that the princes do not take the scroll with them after having decided to report to the king but store it in their quarters. They report orally and then the king on his own initiative sends Jehudi to fetch the scroll—in the same way, to be sure, as the princes themselves had sent Jehudi and Shelemiah earlier to Baruch, ordering him to take the scroll and to come. Jehudi seems to be acting as a kind of secretary to the princes and especially to the king. He reads the scroll before him—something that seems not to be part of the duties of the other śārîm in this situation. Finally, after the destruction of the scroll in the coal fire when the king rejects the advice of the three princes Elnatan, Delaiah, and Gemariah (cf. v. 25 and v. 12), Jehoiakim sends one of his own sons to get rid of Baruch and Jeremiah (v. 26), in vain. The fragile

15  This important distinction has been noticed by Rainer Kessler, Staat und Gesellschaft im vorexilischen Juda vom 8. Jahrhundert bis zum Exil (VTSup 47; Leiden: Brill, 1992), at 168: “Die Erzählung von Jeremias Schriftrolle und ihrer Verbrennung (Jer 36) ist so komponiert, daß der Kontrast zwischen den śārîm und dem König und seiner Umgebung tragendes Element des Aufbaus ist.” Cf. further Kessler, ibid., 169–73.

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loyalties among the court officials seem important to me; we should investigate them closer to understand the specific role of prophecy in this context. I will come back to that point later. Here at last one must highlight the climax of the narrative. When the scroll finally reaches the king, and he is confronted with the words of YHWH mediated by the reading of the scroll, the king burns the medium, intending to overcome the message. But this, as the story shows, is an error in two ways: an error of hubris and an error of judgment with regard to the character of prophetic communication. 2.4 Written and Oral Prophecy in Jeremiah 36 Ina Willi-Plein and Hermann-Josef Stipp have both rightly stressed that interpretations of Jer 36 that focus too much on the scriptural character of prophecy in the text seem to miss the actual emphasis on oral communication by means of the scroll.16 Only with regard to v. 32b is the focus also on prophecy as a mainly textual process of reworking and reinterpretation. The tradents become scribes in the sense that now they actually are the producers of prophecy (see below 5). But in the main part of the chapter, it is always the oral recitation of the words—be it before the people, the princes or the king—that is the actual prophetic communication. There is grammatical evidence supporting the suggestion that the scroll (mĕgillāh) or written message (sēpˍer) in Jer 36 is understood here in the first place as the means of communication: In vv. 6, 8, 10, 13, 14, the act of reading is formulated with the verb qārāʾ “speaking/reading loud” together with the objects mĕgillāh or sēpˍer and with the preposition beth. Ernst Jenni, in his monumental monograph on the Hebrew prepositions, classified this use of beth as a beth partitivum in the sense of taking words from a greater mass of words (in a written text).17 Ina Willi-Plein on the other hand translates it as a beth instrumentale, which seems to me more

16  Willi-Plein, Spuren (cf. footnote 12), 116–121; Stipp, Baruchs Erben (cf. footnote 10), 146– 154 (discussion of the different research positions regarding the problem); 162–166 (the author’s hypothesis on the basis of his reconstruction of the composition/redaction of the text in two layers). For the more general questions of the relationship between oral and literal communication and the impact of scripture on cultural memory in the ancient Near East cf. David M. Carr, Writing on the Tablet of the Heart: Origins of Scripture and Literature (Oxford: Oxford University Press 2005); cf. ibid., 147f, for Jer 36. 17  Ernst Jenni, Die hebräischen Präpositionen Band 1: Die Präposition Beth (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1992), 273 (category 2649: “Aufnahme von Worten,” 16 times in the Old Testament: with qārāʾ Deut 17:19 [see for this reference footnote 56]); Jer 36:6, 8, 10, 13, 14; Hab 2:2; Neh 8:3, 8ab, 18; 9:3; 2 Chr 34:18; qārāʾ niphal: Neh 13:1; otherwise only two times with yādāʿ: 1 Sam 22:15; Jer 38:24).

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fitting, without denying the possibility of the alternative explanation, see for example v. 14:18 Then all the princes sent Jehudi the son of Nethaniah, son of Shelemiah, son of Cushi to say to Baruch, “The scroll, through (or from) which you have read in the hearing of the people, take it in your hand, and come.” In every instance when the scroll is read “in the hearing/the ears” of the different audiences or in front of the king, the prophetic word reaches its addressees through the act of communication. Writing it on a medium is—like with the bulk of texts from ancient (and even modern) times—a vehicle for the reenactment of the message at another place or in another time. Konrad Ehlich has this pointed out systematically: The text is removed from the primary immediate speech situation und hence made available for uses in other speech situations. The result is that there are texts at hand. This suggests that texts are, so to speak, autonomous, naturally grown entities. However, this impression is deceiving [. . .], since the text is stored to be transported into a second situation of speech. [. . .] I thus speak of an extended situation of speech. Texts then are part of verbal actions which fulfil a specific task. They are essentially connected with transmission.19 Ehlich further points to the twofold structure of the extension of speech situations, in time (what he calls “diachronic distance”) and in space (in his words “diatopic distance”).20 This is in line with other statements of modern linguistics and seems to help focus on the character of prophecy as suggested by Jer 36. One key to understanding is the model of a traditional messenger, or, more generally, of the diplomatic communication. There is a long and well-known practice of interregional exchange by means of messengers and of written messages in the ancient Near East. Even when a message is transmitted only in a letter without the personal presence of a messenger, the model of reenactment remains stable. It is important to note with regard to Jer 36 that at the 18  Willi-Plein, Spuren (cf. footnote 12), 118. 19  Konrad Ehlich, “Text und sprachliches Handeln: Die Entstehung von Texten aus dem Bedürfnis nach Überlieferung,” in Schrift und Gedächtnis: Beiträge zur Archäologie der literarischen Kommunikation (ed. Aleida Assmann, Jan Assmann, Christof Hardmeier; Archäologie der literarischen Kommunikation I; Munich: Wilhelm Fink, 1983), 24–43 at 32 (Translation: F. H., italics in the original). 20  Cf. Ehlich, Text und sprachliches Handeln, 32.

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end of the chain of transmission—when a message is represented by a written record—we always find a scribe as the actual performer of the message before the addressee (mostly the king). This is rightly stressed by Samuel A. Meier in contrast to the usually indirect evidence in the diplomatic documents of the ancient Near East for the involvement of the scribes: It may be objected that one should expect many more references to scribes if one is to assume that a scribe is expected to be present on the receiving end of every letter. [. . .] To compose such a document required a scribe, and therefore a documented correspondence is unthinkable without a scribe at the service of both correspondents.21 We have only to recollect, for example, how strongly the prophetic records from the Old Syrian city of Mari (first half of the 2nd Millennium BCE) are characterized by diplomatic language.22 The letters with prophetic oracles are written by officials of lower rank from distant locations. One of the oldest insights into the prophetic books of the Hebrew Bible is how deeply they are shaped according to the message model, predominantly an oral form in the ancient Near East.23 But, as this communication transcends space and time, it is fundamentally based on scripture and on the existence of archives to preserve the correspondence for further consultations, documentation and legitimation.24 Keeping this in mind, I would like to follow now a suggestion made by the late

21  Samuel A. Meier, The Messenger in the Ancient Semitic World (HSM 45; Atlanta GA: Scholars Press, 1988), at 199. 22   Cf., e.g., Friedrich Ellermeier, Prophetie in Mari und Israel (Theologische und Orientalistische Arbeiten I; Herzberg am Harz: Erwin Jungfer, 1968), 110–32; Edward Noort, Untersuchungen zum Gottesbescheid in Mari: Die “Mariprophetie” in der alttestamentlichen Forschung (AOAT 202; Kevelaer: Butzon & Bercker/Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1977), 30–32; for an attempt to understand even the character of the scroll in Jer 36 in analogy to the composition of “prophetic” Mari letters see Aaron Schart, “Combining Prophetic Oracles in Mari Letters and Jeremiah 36,” JANES 23 (1995): 75–93. 23  Cf. still the “classical” form-critical study by Claus Westermann, Grundformen prophetischer Rede (5t ed.: BEvTh 31; Munich: Christian Kaiser, 1978), and, as a new example for this direction of research, Andreas Wagner, Prophetie als Theologie: Die so spricht JahweFormeln und das Grundverständnis alttestamentlicher Prophetie (FRLANT 207; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2004). 24  See for a comparative approach the contributions in Ehud Ben Zvi and Michael H. Floyd, eds., Writings and Speech in Israelite and Ancient Near Eastern Prophecy (SBLSymS 10; Atlanta: SBL, 2000).

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Odil Hannes Steck. In his last book, Gott in der Zeit entdecken (“Detecting God in Time”) he commented on the character of prophetic books: The primary image of prophecy [. . .] within the books themselves becomes accessible to us as the image of a divine official that can be reconstructed of course by means of the content he has to deliver. [. . .] It appears that prophetic books are, briefly speaking, records of missions and accomplishments embedded in a biographical storyline of the prophet stylized as the messenger of the king YHWH, fulfilling his plans and decisions; it is the very same structure as in ancient Near Eastern records of received, executed, actually valid and far-reaching messages by the king’s diplomatic envoys. These are documentations not only for storage in archives but for information about the ruler, his intentions and actions in different regions and times of his empire; such records seem to me the best possible parallel for the “Gattung” of prophetic books and should be taken seriously, far more so than, for example, the highly overloaded literary category “drama” or others.25 The fact that it is promising to analyze Jer 36 as a paradigm for Steck’s thesis shall now be shown in three further steps, starting with a closer look at the officials surrounding the king in the narrative. 3

The Prophet and His Supporters: Loyalty Conflicts and Divination

3.1 Scribes and Princes and Their Double Loyalties As mentioned above, there is a growing consensus that Jer 36 is a text reflecting the self-understanding of scribes and officials that support the prophet and transmit his oracles. Since the second half of the 8th century bce and especially around the turn of the 6th century bce, it is clear that the tradents of prophecy are part of the royal administration and even include high state officials.26 This is why, for example, Hermann-Josef Stipp, on the one hand, 25  Odil Hannes Steck, Gott in der Zeit entdecken: Die Prophetenbücher des Alten Testaments als Vorbild für Theologie und Kirche (BThSt 42; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 2001), 158–59 (Translation: F. H.). 26   This was especially stressed by Christof Hardmeier, e.g. in his latest monograph Geschichtsdivinatorik (cf. footnote 10), 209–12 (He highlights, with regard to Jer 36, the “Milieu der Jerusalemer Führungseliten” [“milieu of the leading elites of Jerusalem”]); cf. further for the supporters and tradents of Isaiah at the close of the 8th century bce

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and Karel van der Toorn, on the other, see the scribes and their families from preexilic to postexilic times as the driving force behind texts like Jer 36.27 From Stipp’s point of view, the main intention of the story—on both literary levels he postulates from late preexilic/exilic and postexilic periods—is to underline the importance especially of the Shaphanides, but also other princes (śārîm), for the survival of Jeremiah’s oracles. In his study Baruchs Erben (“Baruch’s heirs”) he calls these supporting circles the “patricians,” in analogy to ancient Rome.28 As reflected in the prophetic narratives of the book some of the princes have been two-faced, so to speak. They were obliged to the king professionally, but “in private”, they seem to have sometimes been loyal to the will of YHWH as uttered by prophets like Jeremiah or Ezekiel. Christof Hardmeier, therefore, counts the prophetic books of this stage “oppositional literature.”29 If one does not associate ideas too closely to the terms of modern political conflicts, the category seems to be fruitful. “Opposition,” then, does not aim at a revolt or a coup d’etat. It is rather strengthened by the insight of the supporters of the prophets that the will of YHWH is often in contrast to official points of view. As books like Isaiah and the older strata of Jeremiah and Ezekiel demonstrate, YHWH’s words are quite often opaque or offensive for the rulers. And it is only due to the fact of a later affirmation of such announcements through the course of history that the books lay such emphasis on predicted evil and punishment. It is, then, not scriptural prophecy as such that distinguishes the Hebrew Bible from the literature of other ancient cultures. It is precisely the content of the selected and summarized interventions from YHWH’s side that is stored in the textual “archives” of books that are unique in this respect in the ancient Near East.30 In these books, an explicit critique of power has been delivered by members of the system themselves. I would suggest reading Jer 36

Friedhelm Hartenstein, “Unheilsprophetie und Herrschaftsrepräsentation: Zur Rezeption assyrischer Propaganda im antiken Juda (8./7. Jh. v. Chr.),” in Archiv (cf. footnote 4), 63–96, esp. 84–90. 27  See van der Toorn, Scribal Culture (cf. footnote 5), 173–204; Stipp, Baruchs Erben (cf. footnote 10), esp. 162–68; cf. further Robert P. Carroll, “Manuscript’s don’t burn – Inscribing the prophetic tradition: Reflections on Jeremiah 36,” in “Dort ziehen Schiffe dahin . . .”: Collected Communications to the XIVth Congress of the IOSOT, Paris 1992 (ed. Matthias Augustin, Klaus-Dietrich Schunck; BEATAJ 28; Frankfurt am Main et al.: Peter Lang, 1996), 31–42 (esp. 33). 28  Stipp, Baruchs Erben, 156. 29  Cf. Christof Hardmeier, “Verkündigung und Schrift bei Jesaja: Zur Entstehung der Schriftprophetie als Oppositionsliteratur im Alten Israel,” ThGl 73 (1983): 119–34. 30  See Hartenstein, Archiv (cf. footnote 4), VII–XIV (bibliographical references).

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in this manner. Therefore, we shall have now a closer look at some interesting parallels from Mesopotamia. 3.2 The Problem of Loyalty within the Ruling Class in Assyria Studies by Martti Nissinen, Manfred Weippert, Matthijs de Jong, and others have shown that the prophets of the Hebrew Bible should be understood in light of the broader background of divine-human interrelations called manticism.31 In Babylonia and Assyria there where different ways to investigate the will of the gods, with the important distinction between artificially evoked or accidentally spotted omens. This “Zukunftsbewältigung” (“mastering of the future” [Stefan M. Maul32]) includes astrological omina and the art of the diviner (bārû), who primarily analyzes the evidence of sheep livers. As we know from Mari and from the Neo-Assyrian period, there were also prophetic oracles within the context of divination (the prophets being templebased cultic personnel but also private people receiving divine messages by the means of dreams or visions).33 Important for our issue is that there is textual evidence in the late Assyrian empire for conflicts of loyalty in the group of the state officials with respect to the validity of divination and the question of how to make decisions in light of ambiguous or contradictory evidence. Especially under the reign of Esarhaddon, the correspondence of the state officials (easily accessible in the volumes of SAA online34) shows how complicated decision-making was in a strictly hierarchical society, where the king’s main goal was to control any possible information of importance. Beate Pongratz-Leisten in her monograph Herrschaftswissen in Mesopotamien (“knowledge of government/power in 31  Cf. the contributions in Martti Nissinen, ed., Prophecy in its Ancient Near Eastern Context: Mesopotamian, Biblical, and Arabian Perspectives (SBLSymS 13; Atlanta: SBL, 2000); Matthias Köckert and Martti Nissinen, ed., Propheten in Mari, Assyrien und Israel (FRLANT 201; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2003); Matthijs J. de Jong, Isaiah among the Ancient Near Eastern Prophets: A Comparative Study of the Earliest Stages of the Isaiah Tradition and the Neo-Assyrian Prophecies (VTSup 117; Leiden: Brill, 2007); Manfred Weippert, Götterwort in Menschenmund: Studien zur Prophetie in Assyrien, Israel und Juda (FRLANT 252; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2014). 32  A term originally coined by Maul to characterize the namburbi-rituals, cf. Stefan M. Maul, Zukunftsbewältigung: Eine Untersuchung altorientalischen Denkens anhand der babylonisch-assyrischen Löserituale (Namburbi) (BagF 18; Mainz: Philipp von Zabern, 1994). 33  For Mesopotamian divination and its cultural significance see now the comprehensive monograph by Stefan M. Maul, Die Wahrsagekunst im Alten Orient: Zeichen des Himmels und der Erde (Historische Bibliothek der Gerda Henkel Stiftung; München: C. H. Beck, 2013). 34  http://oracc.museum.upenn.edu/saao/corpus.

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Mesopotamia”) demonstrates how the conflicts increased since the access to the ruler in Assyria was so restricted.35 Communication in general was based mostly on written sources like letters and records. With regard to Burkhard Gladigow, she suggests the term of an “orality supported by writing” (“schriftgestützte Mündlichkeit”) as appropriate.36 In the Akkadian language of the time, the common terms for textual messages such as šipru, našpartu, and šipirtu (cf. sēpˍer in Hebrew) denote what are often indistinguishable scriptural as well as oral dimensions of a transmission. Pongratz-Leisten explains: One result of my research concentrating on different forms of communication between the god and the king is that in the realm of divination, the king is in most cases not the direct recipient of the divine message. Instead, it is transmitted by another, alien, addressee, in a written, textual form. Another result is that not all the groups of specialists and not every individual specialist had direct access to the king, so the diatopic speech situation [here she refers to the above-mentioned thesis of Konrad Ehlich37] dominates by far the communication between the god and the king as well as between the king and the specialists. The representation of “divine speech” or of divine signs of any kind in the form of texts therefore belongs to the ordinary ways of communication in the Sargonic period.38 It is important that in the entourage of the king there were only several persons of high rank that had the ability to select and evaluate the different information coming from all over the country (there seems to have been only one personal secretary for the king that was educated to read and to evaluate the results of divination before the ruler39). In this regard it is significant that all 35  Beate Pongratz-Leisten, Herrschaftswissen in Mesopotamien: Formen der Kommunikation zwischen Gott und König im 2. und 1. Jahrtausend v.Chr. (SAA Studies 10; Helsinki: The NeoAssyrian Text Corpus Project, 1999), 210–76, 286–320; see further the important chapter by Maul, Wahrsagekunst (cf. footnote 33), 297–313 (“Im Auge der Macht: Wahrsagekunst und Politikberatung”). 36  Pongratz-Leisten, Herrschaftswissen, 272, 275; cf. Burkhard Gladigow, “Der Kommentar als Hypothek des Textes: Systematische Erwägungen und historische Analysen”, in Text und Kommentar (ed. Jan Assmann and Burkhard Gladigow; Archäologie der literarischen Kommunikation IV, Munich: Fink, 1995), 35–49 (esp. 42). 37  Cf. footnote 19. 38  Pongratz-Leisten, Herrschaftswissen, 268 (Translation: F. H.). 39  Pongratz-Leisten, Herrschaftswissen, 196f.201.268. (with regard to Nabû-ušabši, presumably a personal secretary, who was educated as a bārû and therefore competent to evaluate the divination records he had to read in front of the king).

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the members of the court have sworn a loyalty oath (adê) that attempts to secure the uninhibited flow of information. In Esarhaddon’s succession treaty we read: If you hear any evil, improper, ugly word which is not seemly nor good to Assurbanipal, the great crown prince designate, son of Esarhaddon, king of Assyria, your lord, either from the mouth of his enemy or from the mouth of his ally, or from the mouth of his brothers or from the mouth of his uncles, his cousins, his family, members of his father’s line, or from the mouth of your brothers, your sons, your daughters, or from the mouth of a prophet (raggimu), an ecstatic (maḫḫû), an inquirer of oracles (šāʾilu), or from the mouth of any human being at all, you shall not conceal it but come and report it to Assurbanipal, the great crown prince designate, son of Esarhaddon, king of Assyria.40 The lines 116–17 show clearly that prophetic words against the kings must have existed. However, these were not preserved in the archives like the selected oracles, mostly from the mouth of Ištar, which supported Esarhaddon’s reign by encouraging the king.41 Since the high state officials were strongly obliged to denounce and report any potentially negative word or sign, the interest of the king was to eliminate any evidence directed against his government’s actions. 3.3 Consequences for the Supporters of Jeremiah in Chapter 36 To evaluate the plausibility of the world of the narrative of Jer 36, the Assyrian evidence seems relevant in two respects: 1.

As stated above, the princes and scribes are the key persons in the antechamber of power in Jer 36. Without them the scroll would not have “gained an audience” before Jehoiakim. As Carl Schmitt demonstrated in a famous essay from 1954, the “antechambers of power” have much more

40  S AA 2, 6 § 10, 108–22 (Akkadian terms in brackets inserted by F. H.), Cited 14 April 2015; Online: http://oracc.museum.upenn.edu/saao/corpus; see also Simo Parpola and Kazuko Watanabe, Neo-Assyrian Treaties and Loyalty Oaths (SAA 2; Helsinki: Helsinki University Press 1988), 33; cf. further Kazuko Watanabe, Die adê-Vereidigung anlässlich der Thronfolgeregelung Asarhaddons (BaghM Beihefte 3; Berlin: Gebrüder Mann, 1987), 148–49. Cf. further for the strong obligation to report to the king according to PongratzLeisten, Herrschaftswissen, 190–91, 317. 41  Simo Parpola, Assyrian Prophecies (SAA 9; Helsinki: Helsinki University Press, 1997), SAA 9 1–4; esp. SAA 9 1:1–10 (ibid., 4–11).

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actual influence on what happens in matters of state than one would suppose.42 In the 7th century bce there is obvious influence of the vassal treaties of Esarhaddon as well as of the loyalty oath (adê) on the beginnings of Deuteronomy and the concept of bĕrît (now most impressively supported by the 2009 findings of Tell Tayinat with a fragmentary, but well preserved copy of the succession treaty of Esarhaddon that was situated on an elevated podium in the temple).43 Keeping this in mind, we should also consider the possibility that the last kings of Judah organized their divine-human communications in a similar way to the former Assyrian and the present Babylonian overlords. The Hebrew Bible gives only restricted insights into manticism, but it is surely no coincidence that the most exact list of diviners appears in Jer 27:9. In the context of the chapter, the verse is addressed to the rulers of Edom, Moab, Ammon, Tyre, and Sidon, all of whom had sent their envoys to Zedekiah of Judah: 8 But if any nation or kingdom will not serve Nebuchadnezzar king of Babylon, and put its neck under the yoke of the king of Babylon, I will punish that nation with the sword, with famine, and with pestilence, says YHWH, until I have consumed it by his hand. 9 So do not listen to your prophets (nĕbiʾîm), your diviners (qōsĕmîm), your dreamers (ḥălōmōtîm),

42  Carl Schmitt, Gespräch über die Macht und den Zugang zum Machthaber (Stuttgart: Klett Cotta, 22012). 43  Cf. the website of the excavation, “Tayinat Archaeological Project, University of Toronto,” cited April 14 2015; Online: http://sites.utoronto.ca/tap/; for the eleven Neo-Assyrian tablets, one of them containing a vassal treaty with the adê (Tablet T-1801) from the cella of the Iron Age temple, cf. Timothy P. Harrison, James A. Osborne, “Building XVI and the Neo-Assyrian sacred Precinct at Tell Tayinat,” JCS 64 (2012): 125–43 (esp. 137–40). For a preliminary edition of the tablet cf. Jacob Lauinger, “Esarhaddon’s Succession Treaty at Tell Tayinat: Text and Commentary,” JCS 64 (2012): 87–123; idem, “The Neo-Assyrian adê: Treaty, Oath or Something Else?,” ZAR 19 (2013): 99–115; see further Hans Ulrich Steymans, “Deuteronomy 28 and Tell Tayinat,” Verbum et ecclesia 34(2) (2013): 1–13; cited April 14 2015; Online: http://dx.doi.org/10.4102/ve.v34i2.870, with the summary (1): “The discovery of Esarhaddon’s Succession Treaty (EST) at Tell Tayinat confirms the Assyrian application of this text on western vassals and suggests that the oath tablet was given to Manasseh of Judah in 672 BC, the year in which the king of Assyria had all his empire and vassals swear an oath or treaty promising to adhere to the regulations set for his succession, and that this cuneiform tablet was set up for formal display somewhere inside the temple of Jerusalem.”

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your soothsayers (ʿōnĕnîm), or your sorcerers (kaššāpˍîm), who are saying to you, “You shall not serve the king of Babylon.”44 The historical reliability of the passage is a matter of debate.45 Nonetheless, it is important that is does not criticize or deny the actual practice of consulting different forms of divination. The following verse (like ch. 28 on the “false” prophet Hananiah) does not condemn these inquiries as such, but states that the content of their messages is a lie. The text depicts a very unclear situation about where to find guidance and actual truth about divine plans. Like the Assyrians Judah’s neighbors and—if one takes v. 12 into account— perhaps the Judahites, too, are described here as using various means of divination, whereby prophecy is mentioned first (that prophecy is a proper means of divine communication within the society of the period is also suggested by the famous ostracon no. 3 from Lachish).46 If we recall the last decade of Judah as described in the narratives of Jer 26–43(45), we find not only Jeremiah but more prophets (Hananiah, Uriah, and others), and we hear of some official royal inquiries in which priests or princes were sent to Jeremiah (e.g. Jer 21:1–10; 34:1–7; 37:1–10; 38:14–23). As an example, I select the first text in terms of canonical order, where Zedekiah around 588/587 bce sends two temple officials to Jeremiah (21:2) with the request: Inquire of YHWH for us, for Nebuchadnezzar, king of Babylon, is making war against us; perhaps YHWH will deal with us according to all his wonderful deeds, and will withdraw from us. The text seems to be molded after Jer 37:3–10,47 but it depicts Zedekiah asking for prophetic advice in a manner like Josiah of Judah consults the prophetess Huldah in 2 Kgs 22:11–20.48 In such cases the king always sends officials 44  Translation following Robert P. Carroll, Jeremiah (2d. ed.; Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix Press, 2006), 2:525 (Hebrew terms in brackets inserted by F. H.). 45  See Carroll, Jeremiah 2:529–37 (534). 46   Cf. Johannes Renz, Handbuch der Althebräischen Epigraphik 1: Die althebräischen Inschriften Teil 1: Text und Kommentar (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1995), 412–19 (Lak[6]:1.3 line 19–21); cf. Udo Rüterswörden, “Der Prophet in den LachischOstraka,” in Steine—Bilder—Texte: Historische Evidenz außerbiblischer und biblischer Quellen (ed. Christof Hardmeier; ABG 5; Leipzig: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 2001), 179– 92 (esp. 87–91, with reference to Jer 36 as historically reliable in its description of the writing down of prophetic oracles [188]). 47  Cf. Carroll, Jeremiah, 1:408. 48  See for the “deutero-Jeremianic” character of the Huldah-oracle (belonging to a secondary layer of 2 Kgs 22–23) now Michael Pietsch, Die Kultreform Josias: Studien zur

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to the prophets, evidently considering them experts competent to receive divine answers. In spite of the fact that these texts are often rightly ascribed to Deuteronomistic layers, they could very well be informed correctly about the conditions in Judah during the 7th–6th centuries. I would suggest that— on the smaller scale of a former Assyrian province—the kings of Judah in the late 7th and early 6th century bce, a period which had a significant scriptural culture (cf. above 1.), tried to obtain an optimum amount of information about God’s plans. And the inquiries of prophets seem to be of special importance here. With regard to Jer 36, I think that the key to understand the text is the confrontation of YHWH’s actual will with the king’s claim to control all divine and royal communications. 4

Divine and Royal Communication: YHWH and the King

4.1 Jehoiakim and Josiah: Contrasting Figures It has often been observed that the behavior of Jehoiakim in Jer 36 seems to be a deliberately sharp contrast with the ideal reaction of Josiah of Judah after receiving the words of the tōrāh document from the temple of Jerusalem.49 There are some aspects in which the two stories correspond with each other. In both cases members of the scribal family of the Shaphanides are involved with the discovery and the reading of a written message (sēpˍer). The message causes immediate reactions: In 2 Kgs 22:11, after having heard what was written in the document (unfortunately the narrator tells us no details about the actual content), Josiah “tears apart his clothes” in an act of repentance.50 In Jer 36:16 the princes “turned to one another with fear” (pāḥad), thus acting in a somewhat similar way to Josiah; however, Jer 36:24 tells us that “the king and all his servants” were not afraid at all (pāḥad again) and “did not tear apart their clothes” when they heard the words from the scroll (this could very well be a direct allusion to 2 Kgs 22:11). While Josiah in 2 Kgs 22–23 acts like an ideal Religionsgeschichte Israels in der späten Königszeit (FAT 86; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2013), 109–59 (esp. 158). 49  See, e.g., Georg Fischer, Jeremia 26–52 (cf. footnote 9), 285: “Jer 36 läßt sich nicht angemessen verstehen ohne seine Vorlage, 2Kön 22–23. Dieser Bezug wurde vielfach gesehen und ausgewertet [. . .].” 50  For the symbolic significance of the gesture cf. Claudia Bender, Die Sprache des Textilen: Untersuchungen zu Kleidung und Textilien im Alten Testament (BWANT 177; Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 2008), 148–62 (cf. ibid., 152–53, for Jer 36 as a “Gegengeschichte” [counter story] of 2 Kgs 22).

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ruler, firstly confirming YHWH’s will by an inquiry with the prophetess Huldah (see above) and then at once initiating the cultic reform in Jerusalem, nothing of the kind happens with Jehoiakim. He seems indeed to be as determined as his father, but in a totally opposite direction: in v. 25 he is not even willing to consider the cautionary advice of three of the high officials (Elnatan, Delaiah, and Gemariah). I think their intervention is an act of courage, trying to prevent a greater evil. Instead of accepting their advice, he proceeds with the destruction of the scroll. In the course of events of the narrative, vv. 24–25 are in somewhat of an odd location (since the completion of the burning of the scroll was narrated already in the verses before [vv. 22–23]). This could be a hint that vv. 24–25 are part of the later redactional expansion of the story. In the theology of this secondary layer (see also below 5.), Jehoiakim’s evil deeds, which contrast to Josiah’s actions in accordance with YHWH’s will, are enough to bring about final judgment on Judah and on himself (cf. the oracle of judgment in vv. 30–31). The King’s Destruction of the Scroll: Does It Bring the Curse upon Him? What was it exactly that Jehoiakim did by burning the scroll? This remains an open question.51 The usual answer is that he acted more or less arbitrarily by choosing as the means of destruction what was actually at hand: the brazier with the warming fire in his winter palace. Like a perverted ritual, Jehudi, perhaps the personal secretary of the king,52 is ordered to read the scroll column by column, then to cut three or four of the columns off with his knife and finally to throw them into the fire where they are consumed entirely. Ina Willi-Plein considers this a magical act, annihilating the thread of destruction by burning the material presence of the words (with regard to Num 5:23; Ezek 37:16).53 This interpretation seems plausible, but I would like to suggest an even more specific meaning in addition: If we consider the supposed organization of divine-human communications in late Judah in analogy to Assyrian and 4.2

51  Cf. Carroll, Jeremiah, 2:667: “Why did the king burn the scroll? To show his contempt for it? To counteract its terrible power? To frustrate the onslaught of the Babylonians of which it spoke? To show where the real power in the kingdom lay? The text offers no answers to these questions.” 52  See footnote 39 (for the personal secretary of the Assyrian king). 53  Willi-Plein, Spuren (cf. footnote 12), 119–20: “Obwohl es seinem Wesen nach nicht schriftliches Wort ist, wohnt dem Vorgang des Verbrennens doch eine magische Eigengesetzlichkeit inne. Das wird verständlich, wenn man daran denkt, daß die Manipulation mit aufgeschriebenen Worten deren Inhalt manipuliert (Num 5,23; Ez 37,16).”

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Babylonian customs, it is interesting to note the following important directive coming again from Esarhaddon’s loyalty oath (adê) in the succession treaty: You shall guard [this treaty tablet which] is sealed with the seal of Aššur, king of the gods, and set up in your presence, like your own god. If you should remove it, consign it to the fire, throw it into the water, [bury] it in the earth or destroy it by any cunning device, annihilate or deface it, May Aššur, king of the gods, who decrees [the fates], decree an evil and unpleasant fate for you. May he not gra[nt yo]u long-lasting old age and the attainment of extreme old age.54 Like in the comparable curse clauses guarding a legal document against any violation of the content,55 Esarhaddon’s loyalty oath is to be treated as if one’s own god himself is represented in it. The text therefore should be hold in honor and even venerated (cf. the exalted position of the vassal treaty found in situ in the temple of Tell Tayinat).56 If one again compares Jehoiakim’s behavior with Josiah’s obedience to the divine will in 2 Kgs 22–23, one should stress that Josiah swears to follow “all the words of the bĕrît written on the sēpˍer” (23:3). In the light of this parallel, as well as in the light of Esarhaddon’s loyalty oath, Jehoiakim seems to violate not only YHWH’s will but also its material 54  S AA 2, 6 § 35–37, 406–416, cited 14 April 2015; Online: http://oracc.museum.upenn .edu/saao/corpus; see Simo Parpola, Kazuko Watanabe, Neo-Assyrian Treaties (cf. footnote 40), 45; Kazuko Watanabe, Die adê-Vereidigung (cf. footnote 40), 162f. 55  Cf. Watanabe, Die adê-Vereidigung, 190 (commentary for § 36); see further for Esarhaddon’s curses at the end of his succession treaties Erle Leichty, “Esarhaddon, King of Assyria,” in CANE 2:949–58 (esp. 956); cf. more generally Karl Oberhuber, Die Kultur des Alten Orients (Handbuch der Kulturgeschichte; Frankfurt a.M.: Athenaion, 1972), 292: “Der Bedeutung des Geschriebenen und der Inschrift sind sich bereits die altsumerischen Stadtfürsten bewußt gewesen: Die schriftliche Fixierung hatte sakrosankten Charakter und wer es wagte, solche Schrift zu ändern oder zu zerstören, beging einen Frevel, der mit Verwünschungen und Verfluchungen belegt war.” 56  Cf. footnote 43; for a probable impact of this formulation from Esarhaddon’s adê on concepts of the book of Deuteronomy, one could refer to the admonition to keep the tōrāh permanently in the presence of the ruler in Deut 17:18–20: “18 And when he (sc. the king) sits on the throne of his kingdom, he shall write for himself a copy (sēpˍer) of this law (tōrāh), approved by the Levitical priests. 19 And it shall be with him, and he shall read in it (qārāʾ + beth [cf. footnote 17]) all the days of his life, that he may learn to fear YHWH his God by keeping all the words of this law (tōrāh) and this statutes, and doing them, 20 that his heart may not be lifted up above his brothers, and that he may not turn aside from the commandment, either to the right hand or to the left, so that he may continue long in his kingdom, he and his sons, in Israel.”

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representation (like the tablets or stones of Assyrian treaties). Burning the medium is not merely a futile attempt to destroy the message. It could also very well be an act of offense that inevitably brings the curse upon the king and his country (cf. the somewhat similar content of Jer 36:30 and SAA 2, 6 § 37).57 This, admittedly, could only be taken into account when one accepts the possibility that the scroll of Jeremiah’s oracles could have had a somewhat similar dignity for the biblical authors as the scroll of the tōrāh from 2 Kgs 22–23, which is the basis for the bĕrît, did for Josiah. 4.3 The Confrontation of Two Kings: Jehoiakim Versus YHWH Finally, the events of Jer 36 suggest an underlying symbolic dimension of the narrative that should be read in the light of the diplomatic or messenger model as stated by Odil Hannes Steck:58 If Jeremiah is imagined as a kind of a high official with access to YHWH’s divine council (cf. Jer 23:18, 22: “But if they [namely the false prophets] had stood in my council . . .?”), then his words are the true commands of God. If these commands are summarized and collected on a written document, they intentionally transcend the borders of space and time. The written message waits for scribal support so that it can be proclaimed again at times and places where the presence of the original messenger is not necessary or possible. When, on the other hand, King Jehoiakim of Judah tries to control the flow of information from divine-human communications and thereby evidently makes a mistake that is typical for rulers who have been corrupted by their power, the heavenly king and lord of history protects not only his messengers (cf. v. 26 [MT] “but YHWH hid them away” [LXX has Jeremiah and Baruch as subjects]), but also immediately initiates the renewal of the scroll. In doing so, he ensures that the will of the heavenly king could not be destroyed by human hubris. Instead, with the possibility to copy and even enhance his utterances the individual media will vanish, but the word(s) will remain accessible for an unlimited time, thus awaiting new situations and hearers. These hearers will increasingly become readers and writers. 57  Jer 36:30 (cf. Caroll, Jeremiah, 2:658): “Therefore, thus had said YHWH concerning Jehoiakim king of Judah: He shall have none to sit upon the throne of David, and his dead body shall be cast out to the heat by day and the frost by night”; SAA 2, 6 § 37: “May Aššur, king of the gods, who decrees [the fates], decree an evil and unpleasant fate for you. May he not gra[nt yo]u long-lasting old age and the attainment of extreme old age.” Cf. the curses in § 38–56 conjuring the oaths regarding gods and goddesses, esp.: “may he (sc. Ninurta) fill the plain with your blood and feed your flesh to the eagle and the vulture” (§ 41, lines 426–27); “may your sons not take possession of your house” (§ 42, lines 429–30) (Parpola, Watanabe, Treaties, 46). 58  See footnote 25.

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Conclusion: The Character of Prophetic Books As Reflected in the Final Stage of Jeremiah 36

In conclusion I return to the character of the prophetic message in Jer 36 as suggested by the final form of the chapter, which has been shaped by the second literary layer (cf. above 1.). It obviously presupposes a broad stream of scriptural prophecy and prophetic books. This can be seen, for example, in Jer 36:3 and 36:7, where the “maybe” from Amos 5:15 is alluded to and where the theology of repentance brings forth many possible intertextual relationships (cf., for example, Jer 26:3, 29:11–14, 1 Kgs 8, Neh 8–9, and even Jonah 3–4). To characterize these verses only as Deuteronomistic could be misleading, since their horizon of literary allusions goes beyond Deuteronomy and what usually is labeled Deuteronomistic literature. Konrad Schmid’s article on Jer 36 is convincing in its interpretation of some important characteristics of the chapter as a late product of inner-biblical exegesis.59 The text on this final level, then, would aim at a deeper understanding of YHWH’s actions behind world history, using prophetic announcements such as Jer 36:30 for that purpose (even when, like in this case, the predicted event did not come true).60 Prophetic books at this stage of tradition have become something like an instrument for diagnosing YHWH’s often inaccessible ways with regard to his long-term actions.61 His hidden plans for the world’s history could only be understood in retrospect. In my opinion this seems plausible for the final text, but I do not think Jer 36 as a whole is a late product of learned inner-biblical interpretation. The assumption of textual growth within the circles of scribal tradents (insinuated by they themselves in v. 32) seems to me more fitting for a narrative offering such complexity. With regard to the above mentioned (cf. 1.) famous final verse Jer 36:32b (“and many similar words were added to them”), I conclude with the fine characterization of Konrad Schmid:

59  Schmid, “Nebukadnezars Antritt der Weltherrschaft” (cf. footnote 7). 60  Schmid, ibid., 225–39 (esp. 227–235) judges Jer 36:30 to be an artificial prophetic announcement written by the tradents who combined Jer 22:13–19 (18–19) and 22:28–30, which both are presumably authentic Jeremianic oracles delivered in spite of their obvious falseness with regard to the actual events (230). 61  See for this perspective of interpretation Klaus Koch, Die Profeten I: Assyrische Zeit (3d. ed.; UT 280; Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1995), 21–26 (concept of “Metahistorie” [“metahistory”]); Steck, Prophetenbücher (cf. footnote 5), 149–56; idem, Gott in der Zeit entdecken (cf. footnote 25), 187–97; Hartenstein, Archiv (cf. footnote 4), XI–XIV.

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Jer 36:32 is the most obvious self-testimony in the Bible that its texts emerged from successive rewriting and updating: the book of Jeremiah encompasses not only ipsissima verba of the eponymous prophet, but there have been numerous similar additions to these words. [. . .] There are no principal obstacles against the conclusion that Jer 36:32 can be interpreted as a biblical source for a self-understanding of the Bible as the result of ongoing productive innerbiblical exegesis and rewriting (surely not as an exclusive concept but certainly true to a substantial amount).62 62  Schmid, Nebukadnezars Antritt der Weltherrschaft (cf. note 7), 226 (Translation: F. H.).

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King Jehoiakim’s Attempt to Destroy the Written Word of God (Jeremiah 36). A Response to Friedhelm Hartenstein Lida Panov This paper provides a summary and commentary to Friedhelm Hartenstein presentation “Prophets, Princes and Kings: Prophecy and Prophetic Books according to Jeremiah 36,” which was held at the Jeremiah conference on July 22–26, 2014 on the Monte Verità, Switzerland. The issues discussed by Hartenstein are outlined as follows: The process of innerbiblical reworking and interpretation in Jer 36, the structure of Jer 36, the importance of oral prophecy in Jer 36, the challenges of a messenger in maintaining loyalty to the king and to God, and the theological aspects arising in Jer 36. After summarizing these issues, three points of Hartenstein’s presentation are resumed and supplemented in this paper. First, the negative picture of Jehoiakim and its theological impact is examined. Second, the obligation of simultaneous loyalty towards the king and God is discussed with reference to a related case in the book of Isaiah. Finally, the structural feature of the balance between oral prophecy and written prophecy will be investigated. In the beginning of his paper, Hartenstein emphasizes the most widely discussed aspects of Jer 36 in past research. He emphasizes that the book of Jeremiah in particular demonstrates the phenomenon of innerbiblical interpretation and the reception of other biblical texts.1 This process of reworking concerns, first of all, textual exegesis inside the book of Jeremiah itself. It seems that the scroll mentioned in Jer 36 functions as a recapitulation of all the prophetic sayings in the book of Jeremiah when looking at v. 2: “Take a scroll and write on it all the words that I have spoken to you against Israel and Judah and all the nations, from the day I spoke to you, from the days of Josiah 1  Friedhelm Hartenstein, “Prophets, Princes, and Kings: Prophecy and Prophetic Books according to Jeremiah 36” in this volume, esp. 71. Cf. also Konrad Schmid, “Nebukadnezars Antritt der Weltherrschaft und der Abbruch der Davidsdynastie: Innerbiblische Schriftauslegung und universalgeschichtliche Konstruktion im Jeremiabuch, in Schriftgelehrte Traditionsliteratur. Fallstudien zur innerbiblischen Schriftauslegung im Alten Testament (ed. idem; FAT 77; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011), 223–41 esp. 225.

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until today.” It is striking that the text in Jer 36 does not say exactly what was written on the scroll. Another important element in Jer 36 appears in v. 32. The phrase “many similar words were added” hints at how the tradents of biblical texts understood themselves. Evidently, they saw it as a natural procedure to add words and comments to an existing text.2 Hartenstein begins by discussing the structure of Jer 36. Particularly outstanding are the passages in the beginning (vv. 1–8) and in the end (vv. 27–32) of the text. Both sections mention the divine command to Jeremiah to record everything that God has spoken to Jeremiah as well as Jeremiah’s transmission of this task to Baruch. These circumstances may occur because Jeremiah is restrained and cannot enter the temple as is written in v. 5.3 Hartenstein then focuses on the main part of the story (vv. 9–26). In terms of content, we see that Baruch reads the scroll to all the people in the house of Yhwh, in the chamber of Gemaryahu (v. 10), then the son of Gemaryahu informs all the superiors about Baruch’s words (vv. 11–13). Upon hearing everything that was written on the scroll, they realize they must report everything to king Jehoiakim (vv. 14–16). According to Hartenstein, it is striking that on the one hand they feel the obligation to let the king know what has happened, while on the other hand they advise both Jeremiah and Baruch to hide, and they deposit the scroll in the temple (vv. 19–20). Later king Jehoiakim cuts and burns the scroll after it was read to him by the servant Jehudi. He also sends for Jeremiah and Baruch, but the text states that Yhwh hides them (vv. 20–26).4 In this interpretation of Jer 36, Hartenstein emphasizes how prophecy occurs through loud “recitation of the words—be it before the people, the princes, or the king.”5 Nonetheless, v. 32 speaks of prophecy as a written entity that could include many additions and interpretations during the process of redaction. On the other hand, the main part of Jer 36 introduces prophecy as a phenomenon whereby divinatory words are retold and become real in a new situation. The prophetic words are actually transmitted through the oral reading of a written document. As a result, the message can be reenacted by other people in different circumstances.6 Furthermore, Hartenstein follows Odil Hannes Steck’s explanation that prophets in the Hebrew Bible are depicted as messengers of the king Yhwh, while in the ancient Near Eastern world, many messengers appear as transmitters of the king’s words. For this reason, 2  Hartenstein, “Prophets, Princes, and Kings,” esp. 70–72. 3  Ibid., esp. 73–74. 4  Ibid., esp. 74–76. 5  Ibid., 76. 6  Ibid., esp. 76–77.

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documents of the ancient Near East can provide interesting parallels to biblical prophetic texts.7 In a later section of his essay, Hartenstein reflects on conflicts that scribes of prophetic messages encountered. One particular difficulty was the fact that while these officials belonged to the royal court and had to be devoted to their king, they still needed to be loyal to God—and it was not rare to find a contradiction between royal intentions and the divine message.8 Accordingly, it is interesting to see how the Assyrian kings took oaths from their inferiors to make sure they would be loyal. In the Assyrian “Esarhaddon’s Succession Treaty,” for example, it is illustrated that the high officials were obliged to report to the king any evil prophetic word that was said against the king.9 It is possible to assume that the kings of Judah shaped their prophetic mediation similarly to their neighboring countries. As Hartenstein emphasizes, this contradiction is especially apparent in Jer 36, where the king attempts to censor the prophecy, but this stands in contradiction to God’s real will.10 The last part of the paper mentions initially that it is important to consider that king Jehoiakim in Jer 36 is depicted as a counter-image to king Josiah from 2 Kgs 22, and several elements in the plot of Jer 36 are aligned to 2 Kgs 22.11 Hartenstein explains that the fact that a king burning and destroying a scroll on which a divine message is written was considered an outrage in the ancient Near East world. Holy texts had to be kept very securely and needed to be protected against decay and ruin. It was said that if someone harmed a divine text on purpose, he would surely suffer a severe fate.12 Near the end of his paper, Hartenstein sums up that in Jer 36, Jeremiah is assumed to be a prophetic messenger who has received Yhwh’s words. This message was written on a scroll in order to allow others to proclaim the message in later times. However, king Jehoiakim “tries to control the flow of information from divinehuman communications”13 and destroys the scroll. At that point, Yhwh intervenes and renews his divine message so that it would continue to be accessible 7  Ibid., esp. 78–79; Odil Hannes Steck, Gott in der Zeit entdecken: Die Prophetenbücher des Alten Testaments als Vorbild für Theologie und Kirche (BthSt 42; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 2001), 158–59. 8  Hartenstein, “Prophets, Princes, and Kings,” esp. 79–81. 9  Simo Parpola and Kazuko Watanabe, eds., Neo-Assyrian Treaties and Loyalty Oaths (SAA 2; Helsinki: Helsinki University Press, 1988), at 33; Hartenstein, “Prophets, Princes, and Kings,” esp. 83. 10  Hartenstein, “Prophets, Princes, and Kings,” esp. 83–86. 11  Ibid., esp. 86–87. 12  Ibid., esp. 87–89. 13  Ibid., 89.

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for people. “In doing so, he ensures that the will of the heavenly king could not be destroyed by human hubris.”14 To start with my remarks, I want to focus on some royal depictions and textual features in relation to king Jehoiakim in the book of Kings and in Jer 36. First of all, the analogy between 2 Kgs 22–23 and Jer 36 mentioned by Hartenstein is generally important for the last part in 2 Kings because the whole section of 2 Kgs 18–25 connects with corresponding texts in the Hebrew Bible. 2 Kings 18–20 appears also in Isa 36–39, 2 Kgs 22–23 relates with Jer 36 and 2 Kgs 24–25 can be found likewise in Jer 52. Furthermore, Hartenstein discusses the negative picture of Jehoiakim in Jer 36, which is drawn by Jehoiakim’s destruction of the divine scroll. This image enlarges the adverse description of Jehoiakim in 2 Kgs 23:36–24:6 and adds a crucial meaning to the entire royal line from David to Zedekiah. Josiah is the last king who “did right” in the sight of Yhwh and who receives a positive evaluation. In 1 Kgs 13:2 it is even predicted that a son will be born to the house of David and his name will be Josiah. Accordingly, the text links together the first righteous king David and the last righteous king Josiah.15 Jehoiakim is the next important king after Josiah because the threat through the Babylonian king Nebuchadnezzar began under Jehoiakim, but in contrast to Josiah he is evaluated negatively. In addition, it is not only that Josiah and his son Jehoiakim are contrasting images in the Hebrew Bible, but also the previous significant pair of kings, Ahaz and his son Hezekiah are contrasted with each other.16 Accordingly, four major Judean kings are almost in succession paired as father and son and are shown as counterparts to one another.17 Consequently, the picture of Jehoiakim in Jer 36 as a king who

14  Ibid., at 89. 15   Cf. an overview of structural features in the books of Kings in Konrad Schmid, Literaturgeschichte des Alten Testaments: Eine Einführung (Darmstadt: Wiss. Buchgesellschaft, 2008), 82–85; also in Reinhard G. Kratz, Die Komposition der erzählenden Bücher des Alten Testaments: Grundwissen der Bibelkritik (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2000), 155–93. 16  Cf. explanations about the counterpart between Ahaz and Hezekiah in Willem Beuken, Jesaja 1-12 (HThKAT; trans. and assisted by Ulrich Berges; Freiburg i. Br.: Herder, 2003), 187; cf. also Klaas A.D. Smelik, “King Hezekiah Advocates True Prophecy: Remarks on Isaiah xxxvi and xxxvii / II Kings xviii and xix,” in Converting the Past: Studies in Ancient Israelite and Moabite Historiography (ed. idem; OTS 28; Leiden: Brill, 1992), 93–128, esp. 100. 17  Manasseh and Amon ruled between Hezekiah and Josiah, but they appear as less significant rulers.

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attempts to destroy the word of God matches very well with the depiction of the Judean kings in other parts of the Hebrew Bible.18 Regarding the relation between a messenger, king and God, Hartenstein highlights the difficulty that arose by the fact that officials who transmitted prophetic messages were obliged to give allegiance to both king and God. Another related example that deals with the delicate constellation “messenger, king, and God” appears in 2 Kgs 18:25 / Isa 36:10. In this verse the Assyrian messenger Rabshakeh claims not only to be sent by the Assyrian king Sennacherib, but also by Yhwh himself, who has sent him to destroy the Judean land. It is certainly remarkable here how an Assyrian envoy asserts that even the Judean God, the God of the enemy, is on the Assyrian side.19 However, in the Rassam Cylinder, the Assyrian siege of Jerusalem is told from an extrabiblical perspective, and there it is mentioned that Sennacherib carries out his military campaigns by the command of his god Assur.20 Accordingly, the depiction of the biblical account is unique and reflects a certain theological intention. The Judean prophet Isaiah, whose Assyrian counterpart is the messenger Rabshakeh,21 is the mediator between the Judean king Hezekiah and the Judean God Yhwh. By way of contrast, Rabshakeh is subordinate to the Assyrian king Sennacherib and supposedly also to the Judean God Yhwh. However, Rabshakeh’s claim that he was sent by the command of Yhwh is shown as false during the course of the narrative. Consequently, Rabshakeh is presented in the biblical account 18  Jeremiah 36 is probably dependent on 2 Kgs 22 instead of the other way around. Cf. Schmid, “Nebukadnezars Antritt,” esp. 226–27; cf. also Georg Fischer, Jeremia 26–52 (HThKAT; Freiburg i.Br.: Herder, 2005), 307; cf. also Harald Martin Wahl, “Die Entstehung der Schriftprophetie nach Jer 36,” ZAW 110 (1998): 365–89, esp. 375–76. 19  Ehud Ben Zvi argues that 2 Kgs 18:25 / Isa 36:10 is connected with the background of the Isaianic tradition in Isa 10:5–6. Ehud Ben Zvi, “Who Wrote the Speech of Rabshakeh and When?” JBL 109 (1990): 79–92, esp. 85. Furthermore, Friedhelm Hartenstein points out in another contribution that the claim to be related to the gods of the enemy can also be found in Neo-Assyrian documents. For example, the loyal oaths of Esarhaddon show that not only the Assyrian god guaranteed the observance of a contract, but also the god of the affiliated partner. Friedhelm Hartenstein, “Unheilsprophetie und Herrschaftsrepräsentation: Zur Rezeption assyrischer Propaganda im antiken Juda (8./7. Jh. v.Chr.),” in Das Archiv des verborgenen Gottes: Studien zur Unheilsprophetie Jesajas und zur Zionstheologie der Psalmen in assyrischer Zeit (ed. idem; BthSt 74; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Theologie, 2011), 63–96, esp. 72–73. 20  Bernd Janowski and Gernot Wilhelm, eds., Texte aus der Umwelt des Alten Testaments: Staatsverträge, Herrscherinschriften und andere Dokumente zur politischen Geschichte (vol. 2; Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 2005), 67–74. 21  Marvin A. Sweeney, Isaiah 1-39 with an Introduction to Prophetic Literature (FOTL 16; Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 1996), 482.

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as a deceiver who abuses the name of Yhwh for his own aims.22 In what follows in the narration however, it can be seen that the mind of the Judean king Hezekiah is in accordance with the ways of the Judean God Yhwh. Their shared aim is the deliverance of Jerusalem.23 In addition, the phenomena of oral and written prophecy discussed by Hartenstein is indeed a significant element in Jer 36. The text artfully shows how oral prophecy is balanced in the text with written prophecy: First of all, Jeremiah receives the divine order to take a scroll and to write down all the words that Yhwh spoke to him (Jer 36:2). Thus, the orally transmitted divine word is turned into a written word in the beginning of the narration.24 After that, the central section of the story depicts how the written words of the scroll are read and how they are retold to other people (Jer 36:8, 10, 13, 15, 20, 21). As a result, the prophecy of the divine word can be delivered in many places and situa­tions. In the end, the king destroys the scroll (Jer 36:23), but at God’s behest a new scroll is produced immediately (Jer 36:27, 28, 32) which ultimately means that it is impossible to destroy the divine word.25 In this way, the story in Jer 36 shows how the divine word is intended to remain readily accessible in written form so that it can be retold orally.

22  Ben Zvi, “Who Wrote the Speech,” esp. 85–86. 23  Ibid., esp. 86. 24  Wahl highlights that the words “scroll,” “scripture,” “to write,” and “to tell” are the most pivotal semantic field in Jer 36. Therefore, their meaning plays a key role in the narration. Wahl, “Die Entstehung der Schriftprophetie,” esp. 367–68. 25  Fischer, Jeremia, 287.

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Scribal Loyalty and the Burning of the Scroll in Jeremiah 36. A Response to Friedhelm Hartenstein Justin J. White As Friedhelm Hartenstein notes in his essay, Jer 36 stands as an important chapter in discussions of early conceptions of prophecy, especially as regards the textualization of prophecy. Hartenstein’s work moves the discussion of this interesting topic forward by reflecting not only on the chapter’s presupposition of textualized prophecy as a collection of oracles delivered orally by a prophet, but also on the ways in which this presupposition within the text may have had important—and heretofore neglected—Near Eastern analogues. Building off of a compendium of earlier scholarship, he analyzes the use of textuality as a means of perpetuating a prophetic message through space and time, while also considering the ways in which prior characterizations of textualized prophecy belie the relationship between the sender and messenger. Hartenstein’s new work has opened up a series of entirely new questions for Jer 36 and for the topic of oral and written prophecy more broadly, a few of which I would like to consider here. In his analysis of the role of the scribes in Jer 36, Hartenstein highlights what he calls “their double loyalties”—loyalty to both the king as his officials and to the will of Yhwh as issued through (textualized) prophetic speech.1 Hartenstein draws an analogy between these scribes and the scribes of Mesopotamia—specifically Assyria—who control the dissemination of textual information to and from the king. He goes on to suggest that the archive of textualized messages is where the primary difference lies between the Hebrew Bible and other ancient Near Eastern royal archives. Whereas Jer 36 contains an example of scribal officials’ effort to preserve the textualized critique of royal power, such critical messages are not preserved in Assyrian archives alongside positive oracles supporting the king’s reign, even though according to the loyalty oath (adê) of the succession treaty of Esarhaddon, officials were obligated to perpetuate messages issued against the royal family.2 Hartenstein 1  Friedhelm Hartenstein, “Prophets, Princes, and Kings: Prophecy and Prophetic Books according to Jeremiah 36,” in this volume, 70–91, here 79–81. 2  Hartenstein, “Prophets, Princes, and Kings,” 81–83.

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goes on to propose that this sort of control of information is a primary clash between Yhwh and the king in Jer 36—the king sought to burn the scroll in order to destroy the only record of the message against the nation, which brought about the further wrath of Yhwh. Setting aside the latter point for a moment, I would like to consider the extent to which such preserved criticism of royal power is indeed unique in the ancient Near East. An interesting analogue may be found in the Verse Account of Nabonidus, which preserves a clever and scathing assessment of the actions of the king prior to his downfall.3 As with Jer 36 scholars largely agree that the Verse Account was composed by and for learned scribal circles given its unique literary features and emphasis on writing and literature. Particularly interesting for comparison with Jer 36 are lines 8–13 in column V: V 8’ GUB-zu ina UKKIN V 8’ He would stand in the assembly ú-šar-ra-ḫu r[a-man-šú] (and) exalt him[self] (as follows): 9’ en-qé-ek mu-da-a-ka 9’ “I am wise. I am knowledgeable. a-ta-mar k[a-ti-im-tú] I have seen hid[den things]. 10’ mi-ḫi-iṣ GI.DUB-pu ul i-di 10’ I do not know a tablet (made by) a-ta-mar n[i-ṣir-tú] a cut-reed stylus (i.e., cuneiform writing), (but) I have seen se[cret things]. 11’ ú-šab-ra-an dil-te-ri 11’ Ilteri has given me revelations; kul-lat ú-ta-[ad-da-a] he has [made known to me] everything. 12’ u4.sakar da-nù d+en.líl.lá 12’ As for (the series) u4.sakar dA-num šá ik-ṣu-ru a.da.p[à] dEn.lil.la, which Adapa compiled, 13’ UGU-šú šu-tu-qa-ak 13’ I surpass it in all wisdo[m].”5 kal né-me-q[u]4 3   The original publication was by Sidney Smith, Babylonian Historical Texts London: Methuen, 1924), 83–86, 90; pls. v–x. See also Amélie Kuhrt, “Nabonidus and the Babylonian Priesthood,” in Pagan Priests: Religion and Power in the Ancient World (ed. Mary Beard and John North; Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1990), 119–55; W. G. Lambert, “A Catalogue of Texts and Authors,” JCS 16 (1962), 59–77; Peter Machinist and Hayim Tadmor, “Heavenly Wisdom,” in The Tablet and the Scroll: Near Eastern Studies in Honor of William W. Hallo (ed. Mark E. Cohen, Daniel C. Snell, and David B. Weisberg; Bethesda, Md.: CDL, 1993), 146–51; Hanspeter Schaudig, Die Inschriften Nabonids von Babylon und Kyros’ des Großen samt den in ihrem Umfeld entstandenen Tendenzschriften. Textausgabe und Grammatik (AOAT 256; Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 2001), 563–78. 4  Akkadian text after Schaudig, Die Inschriften, 569–70. 5  Translation by Machinist and Tadmor, “Heavenly Wisdom,” 146.

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This speech occurs in a broader narrative of critique to great rhetorical effect. In his speech Nabonidus fails to acknowledge textualized wisdom in the form of the collection of Adapa, here quite cleverly dubbed Uskār Anu Enlil,6 in order to follow his own secret revelation. That his secret revelation had not been given to him in a textualized form—a form mediated through a diviner by means of a scribe—is intimated by his emphasis on direct divine revelation as well as his confession of illiteracy. Nabonidus therefore disregards textualized wisdom, and thus the wisdom offered to him by his scribal advisors, which contributes to his eventual defeat at the hands of Cyrus. Inasmuch as Nabonidus disregarded the textualized wisdom of Adapa by ignoring it, Jehoiakim can be seen to disregard the textualized prophecy of Jeremiah by destroying it. If the actions of Jehoiakim can indeed be interpreted in light of those of Nabonidus, at least a few questions regarding Jer 36 remain open: (1) how do we understand the role of scribes in discussing how textualized prophecy was perpetuated (a question Hartenstein also poses); (2) what is the relationship between textualized wisdom and textualized prophecy; and (3) if wisdom and prophecy are relative analogues in scribal circles, how does this inform our understanding of the growth of prophetic traditions intimated in Jer 36:32b? Having briefly considered the possible importance of the Verse Account for understanding the double-loyalties of the scribes in Jer 36, I would like to return to the question of the burning of the scroll by Jehoiakim. As mentioned above, Hartenstein suggests that Jehoiakim’s burning of the scroll is a sign of his attempt to destroy the record of the prophet’s—or more specifically Yhwh’s—words against the king. He goes on to suggest that this action is punishable by Yhwh based on an analogy to the loyalty oath (adê) of the succession treaty of Esarhaddon. This analogy hinges on two related possibilities: (1) that divine-human communication in ancient Israel was organized according to the structure of a similar oath; and (2) that as a result of this organization the scroll in Jer 36 was to be held in exceedingly high honor, largely in 6  F. R. Kraus argues that Uskār Anu Enlil, which appears to be a mistaken spelling for iškar (Enūma) Anu Enlil “the series (Enūma) Anu Enlil,” might actually be a pun in which the king in his speech gets the term for “series” (iškaru) wrong, instead using uskār, the term for the moon crescent (“Notes Brèves” RA 68 [1974]: 91–96, here 92–93). Such a change would signal not only Nabonidus’s famous affiliation with the symbol for the moon god Sîn, but also his failure to name correctly the literary series Enūma Anu Enlil, which would have been widely known in scribal circles. Machinist and Tadmor (“Heavenly Wisdom,” 146–50) suggest that the change is beyond the pun suggested by Kraus, and is rather a polemic against the replacing of these other deities with Sîn. See also Lambert, “A Catalogue of Texts and Authors,” 64, 70.

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accordance with the prescriptions set out in the loyalty oath (adê) of Esarhaddon’s treaty: You shall guard [this treaty tablet which] is sealed with the seal of Aššur, king of the gods, and set up in your presence, like your own god. If you should remove it, consign it to the fire, throw it into the water, [bury] it in the earth or destroy it by any cunning device, annihilate or deface it, May Aššur, king of the gods, who decrees [the fates], decree an evil and unpleasant fate for you. May he not gra[nt yo]u long-lasting old age and the attainment of extreme old age.7 Reading Jehoiakim’s actions in light of these prescriptions, as Hartenstein proposes, is indeed quite striking. Yet the lines immediately preceding these may throw into question how far the scroll from Jer 36 can be seen on analogy to this treaty: 397 šá ma-mit ṭup-pi an-ni-i e-nu-u e-gu-u Whoever changes, disregards, 398 i-ḫa-ṭu-u i-pa-sa-su x šú a-de-e ⸢x x⸣ transgresses or erases the oaths of 399 [e?]-gu-ma i-par-ra-ṣu ma-mit-su-un this tablet or [dis]regards . . . this 400 [EN ? ṭup]-pi a-de-e an-ni-i treaty and transgresses its oath, 401 [daš-šur] MAN DINGIR-MEŠ u [may the guardian(s) of ] this treaty DINGIR-MEŠ GAL-MEŠ  tablet, [Aššur], king of the gods, and EN-MEŠ-ia8 the great gods, my lords, [. . . . . .]9 By burning the scroll, Jehoiakim would likely have violated the terms of a similar, implied loyalty oath (adê) between he and Yhwh. Yet the actions of the anonymous scribe(s) in Jer 36:32b who add “many words like them” (‫ )דברים רבים כהמה‬may also have violated the oath by changing the oaths, especially if it is believed that the final clause indicates future layers of anonymous additions.10 Though this point does not refute the possibility that Jehoiakim’s destruction of the scroll by fire would have violated an implied 7  Translation from Simo Parpola and Kazuko Watanabe, Neo-Assyrian Treaties and Loyalty Oaths (SAA 2; Helsinki: Helsinki University Press, 1988), §§ 35–37, 406–16. Cited 28 January 2015. Online: http://oracc.museum.upenn.edu/saao/corpus. 8  Akkadian text from Parpola and Watanabe, SAA 2, 6 § 35, 397–401. 9  Translation from Parpola and Watanabe, SAA 2, 6 § 35, 397–401. 10  Hartenstein suggests that the phrase found in Jer 36:32b encompasses all future stages of growth, and thus is not limited to additions by Jeremiah dictated to Baruch (Hartenstein, “Prophets, Princes, and Kings,” 71–72).

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oath between he and Yhwh, it may open to question the extent to which textualized prophecy can be understood in this context on analogy to a loyalty oath (adê) in an official treaty.11 Of course, no analogy is a perfect analogy. And it seems that the explicit mention of destruction by fire in the loyalty oath can, in some way, be illuminating for the actions of Jehoiakim in Jer 36. However, in my view the extent to which such an analogue can help characterize the “genre” of textualized prophecy must remain an open question. I have offered here only a few potential questions I see resulting from Hartenstein’s essay on this intriguing chapter. His work will certainly have important implications for the study of Jer 36 as well as oral and textualized prophecy more broadly.

11  Hartenstein’s formulation of this analogy is not only based on the fact that the king burns the scroll, but also on the sender-messenger relationship reflected in other ancient Near Eastern correspondence and anticipated in the loyalty oath. He extends this expectation for earthly sender (i.e., king) and messenger(s) (i.e., scribes and messengers) to heavenly sender (i.e., deity) and messenger (i.e., king) (Hartenstein, “Prophets, Princes, and Kings,” 76–89). The same expectations for care of the scroll however, should have applied to scribes based on the same sender-messenger expectation.

chapter 7

The Nature of Deutero-Jeremianic Texts Christl M. Maier The title of this essay, given to me by the conveners of the conference, suggests a simple task, namely to describe the nature, i.e., the structure, contents, and intention of specific prose texts in the book of Jeremiah. Formerly, such passages have often been called “Deuteronomistic,” a label that indicated their affinity to prose texts within Deuteronomy and the Deuteronomistic History. What is now called “Deutero-Jeremianic prose” by several scholars is a distinctive language in the sermon-like speeches (e.g. Jer 7; 11; 17; 22; 26; 34; 35; 44) but also in part of the narrative material (Jer 26–29; 36–43). Behind the name “Deutero-Jeremianic” looms the question of whether there was one or several Deuteronomistic redactions of the book and, on a deeper level, a dispute between scholars who use source and redaction-critical approaches and those who analyze the texts’ rhetoric and structure synchronically. In the following, a short review of the history of research aims at demonstrating why I use the term “Deutero-Jeremianic” for these texts (1). Secondly, I will discuss two distinctive rhetorical genres claimed to be indicative for a Deuteronomistic redaction (2). After tracing Deutero-Jeremianic texts that were so far attributed to a pro-Golah redaction in a third section (3), I will try to assess the “nature” of these texts. 1

A Glance at the History of Research

Without recapitulating the century-long debate about the relationship between texts in Jeremiah and in the Deuteronomistic History, I would like to review briefly some arguments in studies of the last decades. In the early 1970s, Winfried Thiel investigated all phrases and words in the book of Jeremiah that had close parallels in the Deuteronomistic History and argued—mainly on the basis of this specific prose language but also on account of style—that there was one thorough Deuteronomistic edition of the book around 550 bce in Judah.1 Thiel further maintained that this redaction reworked Jeremiah’s 1  His PhD thesis was completed in 1970, but published only later; see Winfried Thiel, Die deu­ teronomistische Redaktion von Jeremia 1–25 (WMANT 41; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener

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words in two rhetorical forms. The first one is a sort of catechesis, i.e., a question-answer-scheme that would explain why God brought doom on Judah and Jerusalem (“Gerichtsbegründung im Frage-Antwort-Stil”); the second form is a homily that uses Jeremianic phrases but formulates an alternative to the message of doom (“Alternativ-Predigt”) by calling the audience to listen to God’s words sent through his servants, the prophets.2 What Thiel described as editing of tradition, Thomas Römer would call “the conversion of Jeremiah to the Deuteronomistic theology.”3 In the 1970s and 1980s, a German biblical scholar could build a career on finding a Deuteronomistic hand in any prophetic writing or establishing a specific Deuteronomistic redaction within the Deuterono­mistic History, a phenomenon that Norbert Lohfink called “Pan-Deuteronomism.”4 This research trend eventually led to a broadening of Deuteronomistic topics and to the idea of a Deuteronomistic school that controlled the production of writings through several genera­tions. Konrad Schmid named this indistinctive evidence of stereotypical language “Null-Deuteronomismus”5 and sought to explain it as a tradition-historical rather than a redactional development. Already in 1951, however, John Bright assessed the phenomenon differently on the basis of dissimilarities between the prose in Jeremiah and in the Verlag, 1973), esp. 290–95; idem, Die deuteronomistische Redaktion von Jeremia 26–45: Mit einer Gesamtbeurteilung der deuteronomistischen Redaktion des Buches Jeremia (WMANT 52; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1981), esp. 105–14. Thiel’s dating and locating of this redaction comes close to Noth’s thesis about the date and origin of the Deuteronomistic History; see Martin Noth, Überlieferungsgeschichtliche Studien I: Die sammelnden und bearbei­ tenden Geschichtswerke im Alten Testament (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1963), 91; idem, The Deuteronomistic History (JSOTSup 15; Sheffield: JSOT, 1981). 2  The German terms are mentioned in Thiel, Redaktion I, 290 and 295. 3  Thomas C. Römer, “La conversion du prophète Jérémie à la théologie deutéronomiste: Quelques enquêtes sur le problème d’une rédaction deutéronomiste du livre de Jérémie,” in The Book of Jeremiah and Its Reception (ed. Adrian H. W. Curtis and Thomas Römer; BETL 128; Leuven: Leuven University Press, 1997), 27–50; cf. the short form of this essay entitled “How Did Jeremiah Become a Convert to the Deuteronomistic Ideology,” in Those Elusive Deuteronomists: The Phenomenon of Pan-Deuteronomism (ed. Linda S. Schearing and Steven L. McKenzie, JSOTSup 268; Sheffield; Sheffield Academic Press, 1999), 189–99 at 198–99. 4  See Norbert Lohfink, “Gab es eine deuteronomistische Bewegung?” in Jeremia und die “deuteronomistische Bewegung” (ed. Walter Groß; BBB 98; Weinheim: Beltz Athenäum, 1995), 313–82 at 317 n.18; repr. in Studien zum Deuteronomium und zur deuteronomistischen Literatur III (SBAB 20; Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 1995), 65–142. 5  Konrad Schmid, Buchgestalten des Jeremiabuches: Untersuchungen zur Redaktions- und Rezeptions­geschichte von Jer 30–33 im Kontext des Buches (WMANT 72; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1996), 348.

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Deuteronomistic History. He argued that the prose in Jeremiah derives from the rhetorical prose of its time, common in late seventh and early sixth century Judah.6 Bright listed 56 seemingly Deuteronomistic phrases that are frequent in Jer 1–25 and 30–31 and examined their use in Jeremiah and elsewhere . . . of a total of 56 entries, 23 . . . do not occur in Dtr [i.e., the Deuteron­ omistic History] at all. And of the 33 which do, 13 . . . occur not over twice in all that literature, and so are hardly typical of it. . . . We see, then, that 36 of the 56 entries occur never or rarely in Dtr. On the one hand, a glance at any tabulation of the characteristic style of Dtr will reveal a host of clichés which are common there, but rarely or never occur in the Jeremiah prose. . . . There are, however, 33 entries common to prose Jeremiah and Dtr, of which 15 . . . occur in Dtr five or more times and are certainly characteristic of it. But, in the writer’s opinion, not one of these can be regarded as the exclusive property of D2 [i.e., the exilic Deuteron­ omists]. . . . In other words, the prose of Jeremiah is a style in its own right, akin to Dtr but by no means a slavish imitation of it.7 While Bright explicitly refrained from regarding this prose as the ipsissima vox of Jeremiah and sought its authors in the circle of Jeremiah’s disciples,8 Helga Weippert followed his lead but attributed major passages written in this style of “Kunstprosa” to the prophet himself.9 While her erudite semantic analysis was praised, her thesis of authenticity was widely criticized.10 Through a systematic and thorough analysis of phrases that occur in Deuteronomy or the Deuteronomistic History and in Jeremiah, HermannJosef Stipp was able to solve the dispute by arguing that this prose, which he 6  John Bright, “The Date of the Prose Sermons of Jeremiah,” JBL 70 (1951): 15–35; repr. in A Prophet to the Nations: Essays in Jeremiah Studies (ed. Leo G. Perdue and Brian W. Kovacs; Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 1984), 193–212, esp. 204. 7  Bright, “Date of the Prose Sermons,” 203–4; the entries are listed in appendix A, 207–11. See also Bright’s influential English commentary Jeremiah (AB 2; Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday, 1965). 8  Bright, “Date of the Prose Sermons,” 204–5. 9  Helga Weippert, Die Prosareden des Jeremiabuches (BZAW 132; Berlin: de Gruyter, 1973), 228–29. The German term “Kunstprosa” adopts Bright’s wording “rhetorical prose” (cf. Bright, “Date of the Prose Sermons,” 204). 10  Cf., e.g., Christl Maier, Jeremia als Lehrer der Tora: Soziale Gebote des Deuteronomiums in Fort­schrei­bungen des Jeremiabuches (FRLANT 196; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2002), 25; Rüdiger Liwak, “Vierzig Jahre Forschung zum Jeremiabuch I. Grundlagen,” TRu 76 (2011): 131–79, esp. 146–47.

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calls “Deutero-Jeremianic,”11 is specific to the book of Jeremiah. Such language is not only pertinent in the so-called prose sermons but also in self-reports and narratives about Jeremiah, yet to different extents.12 While this style may be related to redactional layers in the book, it cannot be used as a distinctive marker of a single redaction, as Thiel and others have argued, especially since it is easy to reproduce and thus potentially available to several circles of traditionists and/or redactors. As Schmid and Stipp have noted, not only the style of the language, but the form and theological intent of a given passage should be studied in order to assess its relationship to Deuteronomistic ideas.13 Thus, a passage can only be called Deuteronomistic if it shares major ideas and evaluations with texts of the Deuteronomistic History, among them the harsh verdict on the end of Judah due to worshipping other deities, the idea of exile as divine punishment, the centralization of the cult in Jerusalem, and the disapproval of other sanctuaries. In sum, the label “Deutero-Jeremianic” names the distinctive prose style in the book of Jeremiah elaborated by successive editors/redactors, whereas the label “Deuteronomistic” should only be used for passages that share 11  Hermann-Josef Stipp, Deuterojeremianische Konkordanz (ATSAT 63; St. Ottilien: EOS, 1998), 2. 12   Cf. Hermann-Josef Stipp, “Probleme des redaktions­ geschichtlichen Modells der Entstehung des Jeremiabuches,” in idem, Studien zum Jeremiabuch: Text und Redaktion (FAT 96; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2015), 261–97. 13  Stipp (“Probleme des redaktionsgeschichtlichen Modells,” 296) suggests establishing a compen­di­um of distinctive theologumena of Deuteronomistic provenience. He argues for a more flexible definition of Deuteronomistic that includes different groups of authors; cf. Hermann-Josef Stipp, “Das judäische und das babylonische Jeremiabuch: Zur Frage der Heimat der deuteronomistischen Redaktionen des Jeremiabuchs,” in idem, Studien zum Jeremiabuch: Text und Redaktion (FAT 96; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2015), 325–47. Cf. Konrad Schmid, “Hintere Propheten (Nebiim),” in Grundinformation Altes Testament (ed. Jan C. Gertz; 3d ed.; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2009), 313–412 at 355: “Man sollte die Klassifikation ‘deuteronomistisch’ strikt auf solche Tex­te beschränken, die sich sachlich an den Leitlinien des Deuteronomiums (Kultuseinheit und Kultus­­reinheit) orientieren und dazu die schulsprachlichen Eigenheiten des Deuteronomismus zeigen—der so genannte Sprachbeweis allein ist unzureichend für eine verlässliche Identifizierung deuteronomistischer Redaktionspassagen.” See also Schmid, Buchgestalten, 349. In a recent article, Stipp adds an irregular use of the prophetic messenger formula, formulaic injunction, and the form of parenetic discourse to his criteria for Deuteronomistic classification; cf. Hermann-Josef Stipp, “But into the Water You Must Not Dip It” (Jeremiah 13:1): Methodological Reflections on How to Identify the Work of the Deuteronomistic Redaction in the Book of Jeremiah,” in Thinking of Water in the Early Second Temple Period (ed. Ehud Ben Zvi and Christoph Levin; BZAW 461; Berlin: de Gruyter, 2014), 167–96, esp. 180–85.

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the ideology of the Deuteronomistic History.14 Whether there is, in fact, a Deuteronomistic edition of the book and in what way its editors are linked to the group that issued the Deuteronomistic History should be studied further on the basis of a significant number of passages.15 In the following I will examine the two forms that Thiel attributes to the exilic Deuteronomistic edition: the catechesis form of question-answer and the homily that offers an alternative to avert doom. 2

Two Assumed Deuteronomistic Rhetorical Genres

2.1 Why Has Disaster Struck? A Question and Its Answer In the book of Jeremiah there are four passages that reflect the reasons for the disaster that befell Judah and Jerusalem—Jer 5:19; 9:11–15; 16:10–13; and 22:8–9.16 All of them are distinct in their context, either as prose within poetic passages (5:19; 9:11–15; 22:8–9) or due to a new introduction (16:10). ‫ וְ ָהיָ ה ִּכי ַתּגִ יד ָל ָעם ַהּזֶ ה ֵאת‬10 ‫ל־ה ְּד ָב ִרים ָה ֵא ֶּלה וְ ָא ְמרּו ֵא ֶליָך‬ ַ ‫ָּכ‬ ‫ל־ה ָר ָעה‬ ָ ‫ל־מה ִד ֶּבר יְ הוָ ה ָע ֵלינּו ֵאת ָּכ‬ ֶ ‫ַע‬ ‫אתנּו‬ ֵ ‫ּומה ַח ָּט‬ ֶ ‫ּומה ֲעֹונֵ נּו‬ ֶ ‫דֹולה] ַהּזֹאת‬ ָ ְ‫[הּג‬ ַ ‫ֹלהינּו׃‬ ֵ ‫ֲא ֶׁשר ָח ָטאנּו ַליהוָ ה ֱא‬ ‫יהם‬ ֶ ‫ וְ ָא ַמ ְר ָּת ֲא ֵל‬11 ‫אֹותי נְ ֻאם־יְ הוָ ה‬ ִ ‫יכם‬ ֶ ‫בֹות‬ ֵ ‫ר־עזְ בּו ֲא‬ ָ ‫ַעל ֲא ֶׁש‬ ‫ֹלהים ֲא ֵח ִרים וַ ּיַ ַע ְבדּום‬ ִ ‫וַ ּיֵ ְלכּו ַא ֲח ֵרי ֱא‬ ‫וַ ּיִ ְׁש ַּת ֲחוּו ָל ֶהם‬ ‫ת־ּתֹור ִתי לֹא ָׁש ָמרּו׃‬ ָ ‫וְ א ִֹתי ָעזָ בּו וְ ֶא‬

Jer 16:10–13 MT17 10 When you will tell this people all these words, and they will say to you, “Why has YHWH pronounced all this [great]18 evil against us? What is our iniquity? What is the sin that we have committed against YHWH, our God?” 11 Then you shall say to them: “It is because your ancestors deserted me, saying of YHWH, and went after other gods, served them, worshiped them, but deserted me and did not keep my Torah;

14  My assessment concurs with the one of Hermann-Josef Stipp; see his essay in the present volume. 15  While Thiel pleaded for one exilic Deuteronomistic redaction, Stipp posits two, one in chs. 1–25 elaborated in Judah, another in chs. 26–52 in Babylonia; cf. Stipp, “Das judäische und das babylonische Jeremiabuch,” 344–47. 16  For a more detailed analysis see Maier, Jeremia als Lehrer der Tora, 317–24. 17  My translation; square brackets indicate a plus in the MT. 18  An equivalent for ‫ הגדולה‬is missing in the OG, and ‫ כל־הרעה הזאת‬is also used in Jer 32:23; cf. further Jer 40:2; 44:23.

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‫יכם‬ ֶ ‫בֹות‬ ֵ ‫[ל ֲעׂשֹות] ֵמ ֲא‬ ַ ‫ וְ ַא ֶּתם ֲה ֵרע ֶֹתם‬12 ‫וְ ִהּנְ ֶכם ה ְֹל ִכים ִאיׁש ַא ֲח ֵרי ְׁש ִררּות‬ ‫ּבֹו־ה ָ ֔רע ְל ִב ְל ִּתי ְׁשמ ַֹע ֵא ָלי׃‬ ָ ‫ִל‬ ‫ וְ ֵה ַט ְל ִּתי ֶא ְת ֶכם ֵמ ַעל ָה ָא ֶרץ ַהּזֹאת‬13 ‫ל־ה ָא ֶרץ ֲא ֶׁשר לֹא יְ ַד ְע ֶּתם ַא ֶּתם‬ ָ ‫ַע‬ ‫ֹלהים‬ ִ ‫ת־א‬ ֱ ‫ם־ׁשם ֶא‬ ָ ‫יכם וַ ֲע ַב ְד ֶּת‬ ֶ ‫בֹות‬ ֵ ‫וַ ֲא‬ ‫א־א ֵּתן‬ ֶ ֹ ‫[יֹומם וָ ַליְ ָלה] ֲא ֶׁשר ל‬ ָ ‫ֲא ֵח ִרים‬ ‫ָל ֶכם ֲחנִ ינָ ה׃‬

12 But you were [acting] worse than your ancestors. See, every one of you is following the willfulness of his evil heart, refusing to listen to me. 13 I will hurl you out of this land into a land that neither you nor your ancestors have known, and there you shall serve other gods [day and night],19 who20 will show you no favor.”

All passages display a three part rhetorical scheme: a why-question, which looks back on the destruction and for reasons, is followed by an answer that offers a typical Deuteronomistic justification and by an announcement of doom.21 While all three elements of this scheme offer some variants, the basic line of thought is the same: YHWH brought disaster upon the Judeans (Jer 5:19; 16:10) or upon Jerusalem (22:8)22 because the people have deserted him (5:19b; 16:11–12), his Torah (9:12; 16:11), or his covenant (22:9) and followed other gods (5:19b; 9:13; 16:11; 22:9). Therefore the people will be cast into a foreign land (5:19b; 16:13) and serve foreign gods (16:13) or foreign nations (5:19b; 9:15).

19  This is a typical pre-Masoretic addition that refers to Deut 28:66; cf. Stipp, Sondergut, 106. 20  The third person plural verbs in the OG and the Vulgate (corrected in the Syrohexapla, Aquila, Theo­dotion, and Symmachus towards MT) demonstrate that initially the relative clause referred to the foreign gods. Only after the insertion of ‫ יומם ולילה‬was it possible to read ‫ אׁשר‬as a conjunction. The MT can be regarded as a dogmatic correction that eliminates the power of the foreign deities, cf. William L. Holladay, Jeremiah 1: A Commentary on the Book of the Prophet Jeremiah Chapters 1–25 (Hermeneia; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1986), 174. 21  In Jer 22:8–10, the question is posed by the nations, and an announcement of doom is missing. Since Jer 22:8–10 has close parallels in Deut 29:22–28 and 1 Kgs 9:8–9, Burke Long assigns these three passages to a “type A scheme,” which he distinguishes from “type B,” to which he attributes Jer 5:19; 9:11–15; 16:10–13 together with Jer 13:12–14; 15:1–4; Ezek 21:12; 37:19. Cf. Burke O. Long, “Two Question and Answer Schemata in the Prophets,” JBL 90 (1971): 129–39, esp. 134–38. Since type B is cast as a speech of YHWH and offers the question as one of a future time, Long proposes a situation of seeking oracles through a prophet or asking for intercession as the Sitz im Leben. The passages assigned to type B, however, vary significantly in terms of content and objective, and Jer 5:19; 9:11–15; 16:10–13 resemble type A in terms of didactic approach and function, a fact that Long implicitly admits (137, 139). 22  Jer 9:11 mentions the ruin of the land without naming who generated it.

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The question presupposes that disaster has already struck, which is indicative of an exilic setting, whereas the announcement of doom is formulated as if addressed to a preexilic audience. Thiel explains the latter with the editors’ intention to imitate Jeremianic prophecy.23 He attributes this catechesis form to his Deuteronomistic edition of the book and mentions as parallels Deut 29:23–27; 1 Kgs 9:8–9 par. 2 Chr 7:21–22, and the annals of Ashurbanipal (Rassam cylinder IX,68–74).24 The phrases “to desert YHWH” and “to go after, to serve, to worship other gods” (16:11) are typical Deuteronomistic justifications for Judah’s exile.25 Therefore, I would follow Thiel’s attribution of this stylistic form to exilic editors and Deuteronomistic ideology. As Stipp has argued, the idea that the exiled will serve other gods that show no favor to them (e.g., in Jer 16:13) clearly presents a Judean viewpoint because the Babylonian Golah would never consider cultic assimilation to be in accordance with God’s will.26 Thiel’s thesis that these passages mirror an exilic Deuteronomistic practice of proclamation (“Verkündigungspraxis”),27 however, seems unfounded. This is especially the case since the parallels in Deut 29 and 1 Kgs 9 are attributed to late Deuteronomistic layers28 and the Neo-Assyrian parallel indicates the 23  Thiel, Redaktion I, 299. 24  Thiel, Redaktion I, 295–300. For the Neo-Assyrian text see ANET (2d. ed.), 300; Maximilian Streck, Assurbanipal und die letzten assyrischen Könige bis zum Untergange Niniveh’s (Vorderasiatische Bibliothek 7/2; Leipzig: J. C. Hinrichs, 1916), 2:79. For a discussion of further Assyrian parallels see Long, “Two Question and Answer Schemata,” 132–33. 25  For a list of occurrences see Stipp, Konkordanz, 16–17, 102–3. In contrast, the term ‫“ ׁשררות לב‬willfulness of the heart” (16:12) appears primarily in Jeremiah and only once in Deut 29:18; cf. Stipp, Konkordanz, 144. 26  Cf. Stipp, “Probleme des redaktionsgeschichtlichen Modells,” 282. 27  Thiel, Redaktion I, 295, 299. 28  Most scholars attribute 1 Kgs 9:1–9* to DtrN (“the nomistic” Deuteronomistic redaction) and regard vv. 6–9 as an even later expansion, cf. Georg Hentschel, 1 Könige (NEchtB; Würzburg: Echter, 1984), 65; Ernst Würthwein, Das erste Buch der Könige: Kapitel 1–16 (ATD 11,1; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1985), 104. Eduard Nielsen (Deuteronomium [HAT I,6; Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr, 1995], 265) regards Deut 29:20–27 as late-Deuteronomistic because the combination of Sodom and Gomorrah with Admah and Zeboiim occurs only in late texts (Gen 14:2; 10:19). He even assumes prophetic influence on the form of the text: “Dieses Fragen und Beantworten entspricht der Trauerliturgie nach der Katastrophe und der Predigt eines Jeremia oder Ezechiel vor dem Unglück. Die prophetische Predigt hat die späteren dtr Redaktionen beeinflußt.” (ibid., 267). Martin Rose (5. Mose Teilband 2: 5. Mose 1–11 und 16–34: Rahmenstücke zum Gesetzeskorpus [ZBK 5,2; Zürich: Theologischer Verlag, 1994], 551, 554) attributes Deut 29:1–30:20 to his layer IV (end of exile/early postexilic period) and regards Deut 29:24 as “wörtlich aus Jer. 22,9 übernommen und erweitert” (ibid., 554). Both scholars consider Deut 29:23–27 literarily dependent on Jer 22:8–9.

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existence of a historiographical literary pattern.29 In the book of Jeremiah, the stylistic device of citing the addressees’ question concurs with the use of fictive citations of the audience in Jer 4–6.30 While the latter emphasizes the urgency of the prophetic message, the question-answer scheme accentuates in retrospect that the people themselves are responsible for the disaster. With regard to style and structure, all instances of this question-answer scheme in Jeremiah are literary insertions and thus have been written for their current context.31 In order to assess the second form of Deuteronomistic preaching postulated by Thiel, I will now analyze the prose sermons in Jer 7:1–15 and 22:1–5 with regard to two central questions: (1.) What are the distinctive features of this prose in terms of terminology, parallels, and literary forms? (2.) To what extent does this prose reflect Deuteronomistic ideas and thus can be attributed to a Deuteronomistic redactional layer? 2.2 The Origin and Purpose of the “Alternativ-Predigt” The temple sermon in Jer 7:1–8:3 received its name from the introduction in 7:1–2aα that identifies the sermon-like admonitions with God’s word to Jeremiah to be spoken by the prophet in the gate of the temple. While Jer 7 does not report that Jeremiah actually delivered the speech to the Judeans, this location of the scene underlines that Jeremiah’s words against the temple are divinely commanded and thus reinforces the significance of the speech. This setting evidently links the divine words to chapter 26, the beginning the second part of the book, in which Jeremiah’s escape from death by the mob after his speech in the temple is narrated. Both the introduction in Jer 7:1–2aα and the reference to the temple worship in 7:2b, however, are absent from the Greek version. The MT-pluses also create a tension with regard to the identification of ‫“ המקום הזה‬this place,” a localization that appears eight times in Jer 7:1–8:3 and serves as a leitmotif.32 Therefore, Jer 7:1–2aα belongs to late pre-Masoretic expansions that reiterate the stilted diction of the prose without recurring 29  A similar assessment is proposed by Long (“Two Question and Answer Schemata,” 131), who regards the question and answer schema as “an element of typical Assyrian historiography. It states succinctly that a catastrophe be understood as the result of a broken treaty, and hence as the work of the gods who sanctioned the arrangement.” (ibid., 133) 30  Cf. Christl M. Maier, “Die Klage der Tochter Zion: Ein Beitrag zur Weiblichkeitsmeta­ phorik im Jeremiabuch,” BTZ 15 (1998): 176–89. 31  Jer 9:11–13 even uses key words of the literary context; cf. ‫( האיׁש החכם‬Jer 9:11) with ‫( החכמות‬9:16); ‫( כמדבר מבלי עבר‬9:11) with ‫( ׁשממה מבלי יוׁשב‬9:10). 32  Cf. Jer 7:3, 6, 7, 12, 14, 20, 32; 8:3.

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to specific Deuteronomistic ideas. Louis Stulman and Hermann-Josef Stipp poignantly analyzed this phenomenon,33 which Stipp named “pre-Masoretic idiolect.”34 The core of the speech comprises Jer 7:2aβ–15 with its primary announcement of the temple’s destruction. The following two parts, a divine veto to the prophet’s intercession justified by false cultic behavior in 7:16–26 and further proclamations of doom in 7:27–8:3 are only loosely connected to the first part of the speech. Many exegetes have sought to carve out a genuinely Jeremianic word against the temple from the first part of Jer 7—in my opinion a futile effort.35 Even Thiel, who considers Jer 7 to be a thoroughly Deuteronomistic text, tries to find a kernel by deleting all phrases that resemble Deuteronomistic diction; yet what is left comprises only a fragment.36 He eventually argues that the Deuteronomistic redactor has written a sermon about an authentic statement against the temple in v. 14, which originally declared: “I will do to this house, in which you trust, what I did to Shiloh.”37 The reason for this announcement of doom is, according to Thiel, that the Judeans trusted too much in the temple (see v. 10) but did not heed the basic norms of the community, as v. 9 states: “you steal, murder, commit adultery, and swear falsely.” In the extant text, however, false cults are foregrounded: “you make offerings to Baal, and go after other gods that you have not known” (v. 9, see also v. 6). The indictment of venerating other gods besides YHWH is a typical Deuteronomistic idea that forms a red thread in the Deuteronomistic assessment of Israel’s monarchs in the Deuteronomistic History. Another alleged Deuteronomistic topic is the notion that God’s name dwells in the temple (‫ ׁשכן‬pi. + ‫ׁשם‬, cf. Jer 7:12) or puts his name there (‫ ׂשים‬+ ‫)ׁשם‬,

33  Louis Stulman, The Prose Sermons of the Book of Jeremiah: A Redescription of the Corre­ spondences with Deuteronomistic Literature in the Light of Recent Text-Critical Research (SBLDS 83; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1986), esp. 140–46; Hermann-Josef Stipp, Das maso­ retische und alexandrinische Sondergut des Jeremiabuches: Textgeschichtlicher Rang, ­Eigenarten, ­Triebkräfte (OBO 136; Fribourg: Universitätsverlag and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & R ­ uprecht, 1994), 92–144. 34  Hermann-Josef Stipp, “Linguistic Peculiarities of the Masoretic Edition of the Book of Jeremiah: An Updated Index,” JNSL 23/2 (1997): 181–202 at 181. Cf. also idem, “Der präma­soretische Idiolekt im Jeremiabuch,” in idem, Studien zum Jeremiabuch: Text und Redaktion (FAT 96; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2015), 83–126. 35  See the detailed discussion in Maier, Jeremia als Lehrer der Tora, 63–68. 36  Cf. Thiel, Redaktion I, 114: Jer 7:4, 9a, 10a*, 11*, 12(?), 14*. 37  Thiel, Redaktion I, 114.

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which is first expressed in Deuteronomy.38 Typical for Deutero-Jeremianic prose, however, is the slightly differing formulation “the house that is called by my name” (‫ ;בית אׁשר־נקרא־ׁשמי עליו‬Jer 7:10, 11, 14, 30), which is only used once in the Deuteronomistic History (1 Kgs 8:43).39 In my view, the rather vague announcement in Jer 7:14, the different reasons given for the temple’s destruction, and the specific termino­logy of the prose reveal that the prophet may have criticized the people’s trust in the temple cult and its authorities. Yet, one cannot reconstruct his original words because Jer 7 is basically an exilic text that promotes Deuteronomistic concerns about the purity of the cult and obedience to specific commandments of the Decalogue and, in retrospect, indicts the Judeans of neglecting YHWH’s will and word. I would, however, also argue that this speech has been expanded in the postexilic period in order to teach the Judeans how to avoid disaster in the future. Thiel analyzed the style of the temple sermon by comparing Jer 7:1–15 with the speeches on the Sabbath (Jer 17:19–27), and the one in the king’s palace (Jer 22:1–5), as well as with God’s promise to Solomon (1 Kgs 9:4–7). All of these speeches share an alternative pattern, stating the consequences of both obedience and disobedience to God’s commandments. Thiel assumes that this pattern was not invented by the Deuteronomists but constituted a common style of preaching in the exilic period—an idea that Ernest Nicholson also pondered in his contemporane­ous dissertation.40 Based on instructions in Deuteronomy and speeches in the Deuterono­mistic History, both scholars assume widespread teaching and preaching activity by Deuteronomists during the exilic period.41 While Thiel contends that the reference to gates in Jer 7 and 22 indicates a Judean setting,42 Nicholson situates these sermons among the Babylonian Golah because, in his view, they serve the interests of the exiled Judeans.43 38  Cf. ‫ המקום אׁשר־יבחר (יהוה) אלהיכם בו לׁשכן ׁשמו ׁשם‬in Deut 12:11; 14:23; 16:2, 6, 11; 26:2; Neh 1:9; cf. the similar phrases in Deut 12:5 and Ezra 6:12; Stipp, Konkordanz, 136. 39  Cf. further Jer 32:34; 34:15 and Bar 2:26; Stipp, Konkordanz, 119. 40  Cf. Ernest W. Nicholson, Preaching to the Exiles: A Study of the Prose Tradition in the Book of Jeremiah (Oxford: Blackwell, 1970). Since Thiel does not refer to Nicholson, he probably was not familiar with Nicholson’s work. 41  Both refer to the similar thesis of Enno Janssen, Juda in der Exilszeit: Ein Beitrag zur Frage der Entstehung des Judentums (FRLANT 69; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1956), 20–21; 105; cf. Nicholson, Preaching, 14–16, 118; Thiel, Redaktion I, 290. 42  Cf. Jer 7:1; 17:20; 22:2 and Thiel, Redaktion I, 292–93. 43  Nicholson, Preaching, 126–29; his arguments are: the condemnation of false prophecy and of Judah, the importance of the Sabbath and the pro-Golah perspective in Jer 29 support the interests of the Babylonian exiles. With Jer 29, however, Nicholson refers to a text different from the sermons and thus uses an alien criterion.

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Contrary to both Thiel and Nicholson, I maintain that Thiel’s “AlternativPredigt” addresses a postexilic audience rather than an exilic one. The alternative in all three speeches (Jer 7; 17; and 22) is that the announced doom can be averted if the people obey God’s words and commandments. God will let the people dwell in this place (7:3); Davidic kings will enter the gates in peace (17:25; 22:4); and people from the environs of Jerusalem will bring offerings to the temple (17:26). This alternative runs counter to the exilic situation and imagines a rebuilt temple as well as a city with intact gates. Although an exilic author may also hope for a restored community life in Jerusalem,44 the text’s pragmatics, offering an alternative and calling for allegiance to God’s words, implies an audience that has a choice and the agency to avert further doom. Thus, in Jer 7:1–8:3 one should distinguish between the exilic and most probably Deuteronomistic view that the temple has been destroyed because the people did not heed Jeremiah’s words but worshipped other deities and breached the basic rules of the Decalogue (Jer 7:9) on the one hand and the postexilic call to heed specific Deuteronomic commandments (Jer 7:3–8) with the aim to secure a better future on the other. In order to discuss this specific case of reception, a closer look at Jer 7:3–8 is necessary: Jer 7:3–8 MT 3 Thus says YHWH [Zebaoth], the God of Israel: Amend your ways and your doings, and I will let you dwell45 in this place. ‫ל־ּד ְב ֵרי ַה ֶּׁש ֶקר ֵלאמֹר‬ ִ ‫ל־ּת ְב ְטחּו ָל ֶכם ֶא‬ ִ ‫ ַא‬4 4 Do not trust in these deceptive ‫יכל יְ הוָ ה] ֵה ָּמה׃‬ ַ ‫[ה‬ ֵ ‫יכל יְ הוָ ה‬ ַ ‫יכל יְ הוָ ה ֵה‬ ַ ‫ ֵה‬words: “The temple of YHWH, the temple of YHWH [the temple of YHWH]46 are they.” ‫יכם‬ ֶ ‫ת־ּד ְר ֵכ‬ ַ ‫יטיבּו ֶא‬ ִ ‫יטיב ֵּת‬ ֵ ‫ם־ה‬ ֵ ‫ ִּכי ִא‬5 5 For if you truly amend your ways and ‫יכם‬ ֶ ‫ת־מ ַע ְל ֵל‬ ַ ‫ וְ ֶא‬your doings, if you truly act justly with ‫ּובין ֵר ֵעהּו׃‬ ֵ ‫ם־עׂשֹו ַת ֲעׂשּו ִמ ְׁש ָּפט ֵּבין ִאיׁש‬ ָ ‫ ִא‬one another— ‫ֹלהי יִ ְׂש ָר ֵאל‬ ֵ ‫[צ ָבאֹות] ֱא‬ ְ ‫ֹה־א ַמר יְ הוָ ה‬ ָ ‫ ּכ‬3 ‫יכם‬ ֶ ‫ּומ ַע ְל ֵל‬ ַ ‫יכם‬ ֶ ‫יטיבּו ַד ְר ֵכ‬ ִ ‫ֵה‬ ‫וַ ֲא ַׁש ְּכנָ ה ֶא ְת ֶכם ַּב ָּמקֹום ַהּזֶ ה׃‬

44  As Laura Carlson rightly argued in her response to my initial paper. 45  MT reads ‫וַ ֲא ַׁש ְּכנָ ה ֶא ְת ֶכם ַּב ָּמקֹום ַהּזֶ ה‬, which is supported by the OG. Only after v. 1–2aα has been inserted would “this place” refer to the temple area, in which the people cannot dwell. Thus Aquila and Vulgate read ‫ ׁשכן‬qal + ‫“ ִא ְת ֶכם‬I will dwell with you” and thus modify the meaning accordingly. Cf. Thomas Römer, Israels Väter: Untersuchungen zur Väterthematik im Deuteronomium und in der deuteronomistischen Tradition (OBO 99; Fribourg: Universitätsverlag and Göttingen: Vanden­hoeck & Ruprecht, 1990), 443. 46  The third occurrence is not represented in the OG.

114 ‫ ּגֵ ר יָתֹום וְ ַא ְל ָמנָ ה לֹא ַת ֲעׁש ֹקּו‬6 ‫ל־ּת ְׁש ְּפכּו ַּב ָּמקֹום ַהּזֶ ה‬ ִ ‫וְ ָדם נָ ִקי ַא‬ ‫ֹלהים ֲא ֵח ִרים לֹא ֵת ְלכּו ְל ַרע ָל ֶכם׃‬ ִ ‫וְ ַא ֲח ֵרי ֱא‬ ‫ וְ ִׁש ַּכנְ ִּתי ֶא ְת ֶכם ַּב ָּמקֹום ַהּזֶ ה‬7 ‫ן־עֹולם‬ ָ ‫יכם ְל ִמ‬ ֶ ‫בֹות‬ ֵ ‫ָּב ָא ֶרץ ֲא ֶׁשר נָ ַת ִּתי ַל ֲא‬ ‫ד־עֹולם׃‬ ָ ‫וְ ַע‬ ‫ל־ּד ְב ֵרי ַה ָּׁש ֶקר‬ ִ ‫ ִהּנֵ ה ַא ֶּתם ּב ְֹט ִחים ָל ֶכם ַע‬8 ‫הֹועיל׃‬ ִ ‫ְל ִב ְל ִּתי‬

Maier

6 do not oppress the alien, the orphan, and the widow, and do not shed innocent blood in this place, and do not go after other gods to your own hurt— 7 then I will let you dwell in this place, in the land that I gave to your ancestors forever and ever. 8 Here you are, trusting in deceptive words to no avail.

First of all, the double call to amend their ways in vv. 3 and 5 as well as the reiterated reference to the deceptive words in vv. 4 and 8 are clear signs that vv. 5–8 are an expansion of the text that frames the initial call to not trust in the temple and its authorities.47 Another reason for this assessment is the Hebrew syntax that my translation seeks to mirror: the three commandments in v. 6 directly address the audience without being fully integrated in the conditional clause.48 The prohibition to oppress the alien, the orphan and the widow alludes to the frequent listing of these personae miserae in Deuteronomy. The vetitive “do not shed innocent blood” has an almost verbatim parallel in the speech delivered in the king’s palace in Jer 22:3, which demands from the Judean king that he uphold righteousness and justice and protect the weak. Jeremiah 22:17 indicts King Jehoiakim for shedding innocent blood, and Jer 26:20–23 narrates that this ruler has killed the prophet Uriah. Therefore, a motif that the Jeremiah tradition specifically relates to a particular Judean monarch has later been used as a general commandment for every king and even for every Judean. The third prohibition in Jer 7:6 transforms the Deuteronomistic indictment of false worship (7:9) into a direct commandment. In sum, while Jer 7:5–8 are also written in Deutero-Jeremianic prose, these verses lead beyond the Deuteronomistic explanation for the catastrophe by directly citing specific Deuteronomic regulations and expanding the Jeremiah tradition further. What still sounds Deuteronomistic is not part of an exilic 47  The rather awkward ‫ המה‬in 7:4 is hardly comprehensible; in other instances ‫ המה‬refers to specific groups of people (Jer 2:26; 4:22; 5:5, 10; 6:28; 7:17; 9:15; 17:15, 18, 25, etc.). As Carolyn Sharp (Prophecy and Ideology in Jeremiah: Struggles for Authority in the Deutero-Jeremianic Prose [OTS; London: T&T Clark, 2003], 45–47) has demonstrated, ‫ המה‬may refer to the priests and false prophets who control the temple cult (cf. Jer 5:31; 6:13 = 8:10; 20:6). 48  Cf. Maier, Jeremia als Lehrer der Tora, 65–66; for the following arguments, 74–77.

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redaction but a postexilic expansion of the temple speech. In my study on Jeremiah, I discuss further instances of such re-working and thus posit a “Torah-oriented” redactional layer in the book that transforms the prophet Jeremiah into a teacher of the Torah and aligns him further with his great forerunner Moses.49 Carolyn Sharp also traces the tension between Jer 7:3, 5–7, i.e., the verses that presume that amendment is still possible and the rest of the speech according to which doom is inevitable (7:15) and both intercession and parenesis on Jeremiah’s part will be in vain (7:16, 27). She detects in Jer 7; 26 and further chapters of the book two competing ideologies that are both formulated in Deutero-Jeremianic prose. The first one is a “Judah-based platform” that assesses Jerusalem’s fall as divine judgment on the Judeans’ failure to heed the words of the true prophet Jeremiah.50 The second one, named “pro-gôlâ platform,” reflects the possibility that the people may avert the divine punishment through amending their ways and that restoration may originate from the Babylonian Golah and the leaders of the deportees of 597.51 Although she does not offer a detailed source and redaction-critical analysis, Sharp also perceives that the pro-Golah perspective “does seem to qualify as a redaction”52 and “should be identified as having had the last word.”53 Certainly Sharp would not go so far as to date this perspective to the mid-fifth century, as I would for the Torah-oriented redaction. Yet both of us discern two distinctive ideologies in Jer 7 and beyond, which I would further differentiate by their reception of extant tradition. The second example of “Alternativ-Predigt” is part of the so-called cycle of oracles against the kings in Jer 21:11–23:8. These chapters assemble accusations against several Judean kings and a short prose speech in Jer 22:1–5, which offers an alternative to the end of the Judean monarchy and re-uses a saying from its immediate context. 49  For an English summary of this work see Christl M. Maier, “Jeremiah as Teacher of Torah,” Interpretation 62 (2008): 22–32. 50  Sharp, Prophecy and Ideology, 50 and 158. While Sharp relates all references to foreign deities and command­ments of the Decalogue in Jer 7 also to the pro-Golah position (ibid., 47–48), I would argue that the verdict of cultic apostasy belongs to the initial Deuteronomistic reasoning for Judah’s fall together with the idea that the Judeans did not listen to Jeremiah’s words. 51  Sharp, Prophecy and Ideology, 52 and 158–59. 52  Ibid., 162. 53  Ibid., 163.

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Jer 22:1–5 MT 1 Thus says YHWH: Go down54 to the house of the king of Judah, and speak there this word,2 and say: Hear the word of YHWH, King of Judah, who sits on David’s throne—you and your servants, and your people who enter these gates. ‫ ּכֹה ָא ַמר יְ הוָ ה‬3 3 Thus says YHWH: ‫ּוצ ָד ָקה‬ ְ ‫ ֲעׂשּו ִמ ְׁש ָּפט‬Do (masc. pl.) justice and righteousness ‫ וְ ַה ִּצילּו גָ זּול ִמּיַ ד ָעׁשֹוק‬and deliver from the hand of the ‫ וְ גֵ ר יָתֹום וְ ַא ְל ָמנָ ה ַאל־ּתֹנּו‬oppressor anyone who has been robbed. ‫ל־ּת ְחמֹסּו‬ ַ ‫ ַא‬But the alien, orphan, and widow do no ‫ל־ּת ְׁש ְּפכּו ַּב ָּמקֹום ַהּזֶ ה‬ ִ ‫ וְ ָדם נָ ִקי ַא‬maltreat. Do not exert violence and innocent blood do not shed in this place. ‫ת־ה ָּד ָבר ַהּזֶ ה‬ ַ ‫ם־עׂשֹו ַּת ֲעׂשּו ֶא‬ ָ ‫ ִּכי ִא‬4 4 For if you will indeed obey this word, then through the gates of this house shall ‫ּובאּו ְב ַׁש ֲע ֵרי ַה ַּביִ ת ַהּזֶ ה ְמ ָל ִכים‬ ָ ‫ל־ּכ ְסאֹו‬ ִ ‫ י ְֹׁש ִבים ְל ָדוִ ד ַע‬enter kings who sit for David on his ‫ּסּוסים‬ ִ ‫ּוב‬ ַ ‫ ר ְֹכ ִבים ָּב ֶר ֶכב‬throne, riding on chariots and horses ‫ וְ ַעּמֹו‬Q‫ וַ ֲע ָב ָדיו‬K‫ הּוא וְ ַע ְבּדֹו‬he and his servants55 and his people. ‫ת־ה ְּד ָב ִרים ָה ֵא ֶּלה‬ ַ ‫ וְ ִאם לֹא ִת ְׁש ְמעּו ֶא‬5 5 But if you will not hear these words, ‫ ִּבי נִ ְׁש ַּב ְע ִּתי נְ ֻאם־יְ הוָ ה‬I swear by myself—saying of YHWH— ‫י־ל ָח ְר ָּבה יִ ְהיֶ ה ַה ַּביִ ת ַהּזֶ ה ס‬ ְ ‫ ִּכ‬that this house shall become a desolation. ‫ ּכֹה ָא ַמר יְ הוָ ה‬1 ‫הּודה‬ ָ ְ‫ית־מ ֶלְך י‬ ֶ ‫ֵרד ֵּב‬ ַ ‫וְ ִד ַּב ְר ָּת ָׁשם ֶא‬ ‫ וְ ָא ַמ ְר ָּת‬2‫ת־ה ָּד ָבר ַהּזֶ ה‬ ‫הּודה‬ ָ ְ‫ְׁש ַמע ְּד ַבר־יְ הוָ ה ֶמ ֶלְך י‬ ‫ל־ּכ ֵּסא ָדוִ ד‬ ִ ‫ַהּי ֵֹׁשב ַע‬ ‫ַא ָּתה וַ ֲע ָב ֶדיָך וְ ַע ְּמָך ַה ָּב ִאים‬ ‫ַּב ְּׁש ָע ִרים ָה ֵא ֶּלה‬

54  OG (πορεύου καὶ κατάβηθι) represents the common translation of the so-called “Auftragsformel” with absolute infinitive ‫את‬ ָ ‫( ָהֹלְך וְ ָק ָר‬Jer 2:2; 3:12; 13:1; 17:19 et al.). MT is the lectio difficilior here, see also John G. Janzen, Studies in the Text of Jeremiah (HSM 6; Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1973), 64. 55  The Qere reading has a plural suffix. In MT the whole sentence stands in tension to the plural address in vv. 4–5. The OG manuscripts are divided between plural and singular variants, thus MT is the lectio difficilior and most probably a gloss; cf. Janzen, Studies, 133; Gunther Wanke,  Jeremia 1,1–25,14 (ZBK 20,1; Zürich: Theologischer Verlag, 1995), 194.

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Jer 21:11–12 MT 11 To the house of the king of Judah: Hear the word of YHWH, 12 house of David! Thus says YHWH: Execute justice in the morning, and deliver from the hand of the oppressor anyone who has been robbed, or else my wrath will go forth like fire, and burn, with no one to quench it, [because of theirK/yourQ evil doings.]56

‫הּודה‬ ָ ְ‫ּול ֵבית ֶמ ֶלְך י‬ ְ 11 ‫ִׁש ְמעּו ְּד ַבר־יְ הוָ ה‬ ‫ ֵּבית ָּדוִ ד ּכֹה ָא ַמר יְ הוָ ה‬12 ‫ִּדינּו ַלּב ֶֹקר ִמ ְׁש ָּפט‬ ‫עֹוׁשק‬ ֵ ‫וְ ַה ִּצילּו גָ זּול ִמּיַ ד‬ ‫ן־ּת ֵצא ָכ ֵאׁש ֲח ָמ ִתי‬ ֵ ‫ֶּפ‬ ‫ּוב ֲע ָרה וְ ֵאין ְמ ַכ ֶּבה‬ ָ ]Q‫יכם‬ ֶ ‫ ַמ ַע ְל ֵל‬K‫יהם‬ ֶ ‫[מ ְּפנֵ י ר ַֹע ַמ ַע ְל ֵל‬ ִ

Thiel regards Jer 22:1–5 as an “Alternativ-Predigt” that uses Jer 21:12a as “text” and the address to the royal house in v. 11 as setting of the scene, hereby shifting the meaning of ‫ בית־מלך‬from the dynasty to the building.57 What the prophetic saying requests from the king, namely to do justice and righteousness and to rescue the oppressed, the sermon de­mands from the whole people (v. 3a). The call to do justice and righteousness also alludes to the verdict about King Jehoiakim in Jer 22:13–17, whose debauchery and oppression of the poor is contrasted to the modesty and good governance of his father Josiah.58 The extension of the audience in Jer 22:3 leads beyond the narrated scene and also includes the later readers of the text.59 The speech expands the rather general call for justice to the more specific protection of the personae miserae and reiterates the prohibition to shed innocent blood, both of which are also mentioned in Jer 7:5–8 and in connection to King Jehoiakim (Jer 22:17; 26:20– 23). As in Jer 7, the gates and the term ‫ מקום הזה‬are ambiguous, especially since common people do not pass through the palace entrance all day and 56  The phrase is missing in the OG; the original consonant text with a third person plural suffix does not fit to the context of direct address; the Qere corrects with regard to the same phrase in Jer 4:4 by using a second person plural suffix. The Targum as well as many later Hebrew manuscripts and translations follow the Qere. Cf. Janzen, Studies, 44; Stipp, Sondergut, 100. 57  Thiel, Redaktion I, 238: “Der vorgegebene Spruch (2112) diente D als ‘Text’ für die Gestaltung ihrer Predigt, seine Überschrift (2111) als Anstoß für die von ihr gestaltete Situation.” Because of the twofold meaning of “house,” the announcement in Jer 22:5 may relate to both the palace and the dynasty. 58  The identification of both kings in Jer 22:18 is taken for granted by most scholars, cf. e.g. Bernhard Duhm, Das Buch Jeremia (KHC 11; Tübingen: Mohr, 1901), 175; William McKane, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Jeremiah, vol. I: Jeremiah I–XXV (ICC; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1986), 527; Wanke, Jeremia 1, 199. 59  Similarly Wanke, Jeremia 1, 104.

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rendering the reference to “these gates” in Jer 22:3 unclear. Contrary to Jer 7, this short prose speech is a literary unit—except the gloss in v. 4bβ. Similar to the Torah-oriented redaction of Jer 7, Jer 22:1–5 supposes that doom may be averted by maintaining social justice and protecting the marginalized. While the positive outlook on a continuation of the Davidic dynasty seems to be fully in accordance with the end of the Deuteronomistic History (2 Kgs 25:27–30), the expansion of the audience and the description of Davidic kings entering the palace as victorious military leaders clearly point beyond both an exilic and a Deuteronomistic horizon. In sum, the form of the “Alternativ-Predigt” does not originate from an exilic Deuteronomistic teaching practice, but from a postexilic revision of probably Deuteronomistic texts extant in the book of Jeremiah. Thiel’s third example, the sermon on the Sabbath in Jer 17:19–27 is the most obvious case of foregrounding one commandment that has gained significance in exilic and postexilic times as a linchpin of weal or woe.60 In the following, I will demonstrate that Deutero-Jeremianic texts entail quite different ideologies and thus are by no means the product of just one circle of editors. Beyond Thiel’s Deuteronomistic redaction, the thesis of a proGolah redactional layer in the book is also based on Deutero-Jeremianic texts. 3

Is There a Pro-Golah Redaction in Jeremiah?

Several scholars have noticed that the cycle of oracles against the kings is framed by two passages (Jer 21:1–10 and 24:1–10) that focus on the fate of the exiled rather than on the kings.61 Both texts are written in Deutero-Jeremianic prose and mention the last Judean ruler Zedekiah. Both take up phrases and motifs from other parts of the book and thus are clearly products of redactional activity.

60  Cf. Maier, Jeremia als Lehrer der Tora, 205–25. The Deutero-Jeremianic sermon on the Sabbath pre­sup­poses the prohibition of commerce on the Sabbath Day in Neh 13:15–22 and takes up phrases from different passages in Jeremiah (7:24–28; 13:1; 19:1). Whereas the Sabbath does not play a significant role in the Deuteronomistic History, it serves as identity marker in postexilic texts (Isa 56:2, 4, 6; 58:13–14; Neh 9:14). 61  Karl-Friedrich Pohlmann, Studien zum Jeremiabuch: Ein Beitrag zur Frage nach der Entstehung des Jeremia­buches (FRLANT 118; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1978), 42: “absichtlich erstellte Rahmenkomposition.” Cf. Stipp, “Probleme des redaktionsgeschichtlichen Modells,” 272 and 281; Wanke, Jeremia 1, 220.

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Jeremiah 21:1–10 connects two units with conflicting content: The first one narrates Jeremiah’s answer to a delegation of Judean officials sent by King Zedekiah during the Babylonian siege of Jerusalem (21:1–7); the second one delivers an oracle addressed to “this people” (21:8–10).62 The story about the royal emissaries takes up the note in Jer 37:3 that Zedekiah sent a deleg­ation to the prophet asking him to intercede on behalf of them (‫)התפלל־נא בעדנו‬. In both texts the hope that God will finally rescue Jerusalem is evident. Jeremiah’s answer, however, is shocking: God will fight against his own people so that all inhabitants and animals will die by pestilence, sword, or famine (21:5–6),63 and any survivors will die by the hand of the Babylonians (v. 7). Interestingly, deportation seems not to be an option. In contrast to this scenario of total annihilation, the oracle addressed to the people in Jer 21:8–10 again offers an alternative: “Whoever stays in this city shall die by the sword, by famine, and by pestilence; whoever goes out and surrenders to the Chaldeans, who are besieging you, shall live and shall have his/her life as booty” (v. 9). Similar to the narrative about the events around Jerusalem’s fall and Gedaliah’s reign in Mizpah (Jer 37:3–43:7), this oracle portrays Jeremiah as supporter of a pro-Babylonian policy, but at the same time as a traitor to the Judean cause who calls the people to surrender and defect to the enemy.64 Although the oracles contradict each other in some respect—total annihilation contrasts with a choice for survival—both present the perspective of survivors who surrendered to Babylonian rule. While the text claims that their choice of life over death was an option supported by Jeremiah (and God), it also curtails Babylonian power by arguing that God himself fought against Jerusalem. Does Jer 21 witness to a pro-Golah ideology, as for instance Pohlmann and Schmid posit?65 While the prospect of a total annihilation of Zedekiah’s generation certainly serves the interests of the Babylonian Golah, the oracle in vv. 8–10 does not rule out the existence of survivors in Judah. As an introduction to the cycle of oracles against the kings, Jer 21:1–10 states that any hope for rescue in the last minute was illusory and that those deported 62  For a fuller analysis see Christl M. Maier, “God’s Cruelty and Jeremiah’s Treason: Jer 21:1–10 in Postcolonial Perspective,” in Prophecy and Power: Jeremiah in Feminist and Post­colonial Perspective (ed. Christl M. Maier and Carolyn J. Sharp; LHBOTS 577; New York: Bloomsbury T&T Clark), 133–49.  63  The trilogy ‫ דבר‬- ‫ רעב‬- ‫ חרב‬is typical for Deutero-Jeremianic prose and sometimes reiterated in the pre-Masoretic idiolect; cf. Stipp, Konkordanz, 49–50. 64  Cf. the almost verbatim parallels in Jer 21:9 and 38:2. 65  Pohlmann, Studien zum Jeremiabuch, 42–44; Schmid, Buchgestalten, 261–62.

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with Jehoiachin received the better portion. Since this passage refers to events known only from Jer 37:3–43:7, it presupposes this narrative and may not stem from the same author. More precisely, Jer 21:1–10 seems to be a later joint between the collection of sayings in chapters 1–25 and the collection of narratives in chapters 26–43. With Stipp I am therefore hesitant to speak of a proGolah redaction, i.e., a systematic re-working of texts throughout the book.66 Besides Jer 21:1–10 there is the famous vision of the two fig baskets in Jer 24. Pohlmann regards Jer 24 as the most programmatic text for his thesis of a late pro-Golah redaction in the book of Jeremiah, which he would now date to the fifth century.67 Yet in my view, this text offers a specific interpretation of history that can hardly be connected to any other redactio­nal layer or strand of tradition in the book, although it may indeed be a late postexilic text. Jeremiah 24:1–10 is presented as a self-report (“Selbstbericht”) of the prophet, dating some time after the deportation of King Jehoiachin by Nebuchadrezzar in 597 (v. 1).68 The passage is a coherent literary unit with characteristic phrases of Deutero-Jeremianic prose, especially in the extensive explanation of the vision.69 Contrary to Thiel and others, its ideology is not Deuteronomistic at all, since it links survival to a geographical region and not to any condition such as returning to YHWH or keeping his covenant.70 The twofold vision offers contrasting perspectives for the future of two groups. The good figs represent the Judeans who were deported in 597 together with King Jehoiachin: they will be brought back to their homeland; they will 66  See the detailed arguments in Hermann-Josef Stipp, “Jeremia 24: Geschichtsbild und historischer Ort,” in idem, Studien zum Jeremiabuch: Text und Redaktion (FAT 96; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2015), 349–78, eps. 370–76. 67  Pohlmann, Studien zum Jeremiabuch, 30–31 and 191 with a dating in the fourth century at the earliest. The dating to the fifth century is argued in idem, “Das ‘Heil’ des Landes – Erwägungen zu Jer 29:5–7,” in Mythos im Alten Testament und seiner Umwelt: FS HansPeter Müller (ed. Armin Lange et al.; BZAW 278; Berlin: de Gruyter, 1999), 144–64, esp. 146 n. 15 and 148. Schmid (Buchgestalten, 268) proposes the end of the sixth-century as date of the Golah-redaction in Jeremiah. 68  Stipp is right in arguing that the timing refers to the envisioned figs, not to the moment of the vision; cf. Stipp, “Jeremia 24,” 154. 69  Cf. Jan P. Hyatt, “The Deuteronomic Edition of Jeremiah,” in A Prophet to the Nations: Essays in Jeremiah Studies (ed. Leo G. Perdue and Brian W. Kovacs; Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 1984), 247–67, esp. 258: “Chapter 24 must be assigned wholly to D.” Thiel (Redaktion I, 260) arrives at the same result after a thorough analysis of Deuteronomistic phrases. Stipp (“Probleme des redaktions­geschichtlichen Modells,” 280–81) rightly refutes all efforts to extract an authentic Jeremianic oracle from the chapter. 70  Similarly Schmid, Buchgestalten, 33. Stipp (“Jeremia 24,” 362–63) argues that Jer 24:6–7 presents exile as an intended and unconditioned act of divine salvation.

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receive a heart to know YHWH and thus be God’s own people (v. 4–7). In contrast, the bad, inedible figs represent Zedekiah and his officials as well as all Judeans who have remained in Judah or dwelled in Egypt: they will become a horror, disgrace, taunt, and curse in all the places to which God dispersed them and eventually face total annihilation (vv. 8–10). This portrait of King Zedekiah and his generation is one of most negative in the book. In the narrative about Jerusalem’s fall and Gedaliah’s rule (Jer 37:3– 43:7), Zedekiah is portrayed as a weak but sympathetic ruler who acknowledges Jeremiah’s authority, communi­cates with the prophet, and even saves him from the hands of some officials.71 In Jer 24:8–9, however, Zedekiah is the representative of a stubborn generation who utterly denies YHWH’s word and authority.72 The ideology of Jer 24 has no parallels in the book: First of all, all exiles are declared to be descendants of the first Golah, who were deported with King Jehoiachin, and therefore not responsible for the failed anti-Babylonian policy of Zedekiah and his officials. Contrary to the course of history, this vision report neglects the fact that there have been at least two if not three deportations to Babylonia.73 All exiled to Babylonia are named “the Judean Golah” (‫ גלות יהודה‬v. 574). Moreover, the vision tries to eradicate the significance of survivors living in Judah and to write off the Egyptian Golah. Such obvious falsification of history can hardly be dated to the early exilic struggle among the different groups of survivors witnessed in Jer 37–43.75 Nor is an early postexilic setting in Judah reasonable, when descendants from different groups came

71  The ambivalent portrait of Zedekiah in MT and OG is investigated by John Applegate, “The Fate of Zedekiah: Redactional Debate in the Book of Jeremiah,” VT 48 (1998): 137–60 and 301–8. 72  Stipp plausibly demonstrated that Zedekiah’s portrait has been significantly adumbrated in the course of tradition and even in revisions of the OG version; cf. Hermann-Josef Stipp, “Zedekiah in the Book of Jeremiah: On the Formation of a Biblical Character,” CBQ 58 (1996): 627–48. 73  While Jer 52:28–30 lists three deportations, 2 Kgs 24:14–15; 25:11 mention only two. 74  The term occurs only here and in Jer 28:4; 29:22; cf. ‫ גלות ירוׁשלם ויהודה‬in Jer 40:1. 75  Stipp (“Zedekiah,” 629–30) points to an authorial slip in 42:12 (MT): “he [i.e., the Babylonian king] will have mercy on you and restore you to your native soil.” Stipp dates this call to obey the Babylonian overlords as well as the Gedaliah narrative before the defeat of Babylon by Persia. Sharp (Prophecy and Ideology, 90) refers to Stipp’s dating of Jer 42:12 and argues that Jer 24 can be under­stood “as paraenesis aimed at dissuading members of the 597 gôlâ group from allying themselves with the Judean group in Egypt,” which could at least claim that the prophet Jeremiah had joined them (cf. Jer 43:6).

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back to Judah and met with those who had survived and remained in Judah and Benjamin.76 Thus Jer 24 must be dated to a later time when all those living in Jerusalem and its environs could claim to be descendants of the first deportation— similar to the book of Ezra that is aware of only one Golah, namely the returnees from Babylonia.77 This group sees itself as elected by God and declares those dispersed in Egypt, descendants of Zedekiah’s generation, as doomed. With regard to its isolation and ideology, the vision of the two fig baskets in Jer 24 is, indeed, a late postexilic example of scribal prophecy.78 4 Conclusion The “nature” of Deutero-Jeremianic texts is a common repertoire of stereotypical phrases formulated in prose that is easy to reproduce and in fact has been partly reproduced in several stages of the book’s development including the pre-Masoretic extensions. As the Deutero-Jeremianic prose often takes up terms and phrases from poetic passages, it seems clear that it is a literary style originating from an exilic reworking of extant Jeremianic tradition. All arguments in favor of exilic preaching activity that may have used such language— proposed by Nicholson, Thiel, and others—are in my view mere guesses that fail to prove the thesis. Similarly, the question-answer scheme is not an exilic preaching tactic but a literary imitation of citing the audience, a stylistic device that is already used in poetic texts of Jer 4–6. While the call to return to YHWH may be part of the Deuteronomistic ideology, the postulated “AlternativPredigt,” which presents two alternative ways and their consequences, results from a postexilic expansion of prose speeches (Jer 7:5–7) and is reproduced in new speeches that feature postexilic concerns (Jer 22:1–5; 17:19–26). Since the ideology of Deutero-Jeremianic texts varies, they cannot be attributed to a single redactional layer or strand of tradition within the book 76  Schmid (Buchgestalten, 262–66) argues that Jer 24 is literarily dependent on Amos 7–9 and the Golah-oriented redaction in Ezekiel (Ezek 1:1–3; 3:10–16; 24:35–37; 33:21–29), that it takes up specific phrases of Deut 28–30 and has structural parallels to Gen 12:2–3. Due to these various book-external links and references, Schmid (Buchgestalten, 268) dates Jer 24 to the last decades of the fifth century. Carroll regards Jer 24 as propaganda of the returnees who tried to take over control in Jerusalem; cf. Robert Carroll, Jeremiah: A Commentary (OTL; London: SCM, 1986), 487; idem, “The Myth of the Empty Land,” Semeia 59 (1992): 79–93, esp. 83. 77  Wanke ( Jeremia 1, 223) also supports a date to the time of Ezra and Nehemiah. 78  Stipp (“Jeremia 24,” 349–65) has elaborated the literary relations of Jer 24:1–10.

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of Jeremiah. A considerable number of passages in Deutero-Jeremianic prose reflect the end of Judah and Jerusalem and attribute responsibility for the events to the Judeans and their kings, esp. Jehoiakim and Zedekiah. Among these texts are several that resemble the explanation of the exile advanced in the Deuteronomistic History. These texts may be assigned to an exilic Deuteronomistic redaction, which probably also produced a first edition of the book (chapters 1–25*) in Judah. There are other Deutero-Jeremianic texts within Jer 1–25, however, which display a pro-Golah perspective and serve the interests of the Babylonian Golah, characterizing Jeremiah as a lobbyist for the pro-Babylonian policy. Yet, a systematic pro-Golah redaction in the book seems hard to establish. One text that constitutes a significant later reception, the vision of the two fig baskets in Jer 24, however, sticks out with an ideology that is not reconcilable with any other strand of the tradition. Obviously one essay cannot not solve all questions of the redaction history in Jeremiah. Regarding the nature of Deutero-Jeremianic texts, there seems to be a new common ground with a solution that has been discussed earlier, namely: Deutero-Jeremianic prose is a specific style, initially developed during the exile, that was used in different literary genres and in later stages of the book’s development. It should be differentiated from the term Deuteronomistic, which designates an exilic redactional layer in the book.

chapter 8

The “Deuteronomistic” Character of the Book of Jeremiah. A Response to Christl M. Maier Thomas Römer 1

Redactional Layers or Fortschreibung?

Christl Maier has provided us with an excellent paper dealing with the question of the so-called “Deutero Jeremianic (DJ) texts,” a term that she adopts from Hermann Josef Stipp.1 This expression was coined in order to solve the problem that many texts in Jeremiah sound “Dtr,” but are not genuinely Dtr, because they do not appear in the book of Deuteronomy or the so-called Dtr History. C. Maier presents some test cases like Jer 16:10–13, Jer 7, Jer 22:1–5, and others in order to show that there is an evolution in the formation of the book. If I understand her correctly, she proposes an “exilic” Dtr redaction, which she locates in Judah (I am not really sure why) and which would have encompassed texts between chs. 1 and 25. At a later point, several Deutero Jeremianic inserts were added that cannot be related to one precise redactional level. C. Maier (CM) denies, rightly in my view, the existence of a thoroughgoing “Pro-Golah” perspective. Does that mean that she is taking up the model of a Fortschreibung, or a “rolling corpus,” which was previously advocated by B. Duhm? In the beginning of the 20th century he claimed that about 70% of the book should be attributed to redactors who wrote in Dtr style and who supplemented the book from the end of the Babylonian period until the first century bce?2 The same idea was adopted by scholars like Carroll, Levin, and also McKane3 (at least in 1  Hermann-Josef Stipp, Deutero-Jeremianische Konkordanz (ATS 63; St. Ottilien: EOS Verlag, 1998); idem, “Probleme des redaktionsgeschichtlichen Modells der Entstehung des Jeremiabuches,” in Jeremia und die “deuteronomistische Bewegung” (ed. Walter Groß; BBB 98; Weinheim: Beltz Athenäum, 1995), 225–62. 2  Bernhard Duhm, Das Buch Jeremia (KHC 11; Tübingen: J.C.B. Mohr, 1901). 3  Robert P. Carroll, From Chaos to Covenant: Uses of Prophecy in the Book of Jeremiah (London: SCM Press, 1981); Christoph Levin, Die Verheissung des neuen Bundes in ihrem theologiegeschichtlichen Zusammenhang ausgelegt (FRLANT 137; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1985); William McKane, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Jeremiah. Volume I (ICC; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1986). A compromise between a redactional model and a model

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the first volume of his commentary). Unfortunately Professor Maier is quite discreet about her view of the formation of the book of Jeremiah.4 2

Exilic and Postexilic, Babylonian and Persian

Before commenting on several aspects of her interesting paper, let us raise two methodological questions or concerns. The first is the distinction between “exilic” and “postexilic” texts or redactions, a distinction that CM uses quite frequently, as do many other (mostly German) scholars. But what do we mean by “exilic”? Is this the very short time period between 597 and 539 b.c.e.? But as we all know, the “exile” did not end with the arrival of the Persians in Babylonia because many Judean deportees stayed in Babylon for centuries. So if we mean the Pre-Persian period, it would be clearer to use the expression “Babylonian Era.” And in regard to this era, I am becoming increasingly skeptical about the extent of the texts and redactions we should pack in these fifty years. O. Eißfeldt pointed out some time ago that the Judeans in the first decades after the destruction of Jerusalem certainly had more urgent concerns than to sit down and write or revise all kinds of scrolls.5 I think that many texts that we label “exilic” may well have originated in the more stable situation of the early Persian period. And this brings me to my second methodological question. On what criteria can we distinguish between “Babylonian” and “postexilic” texts? In discussing Thiel’s “Alternativpredigten,” CM argues that they must be from the postexilic period because the hope that the people will be able to dwell in the temple (Jer 7:3) or bring offerings to the temple (Jer 17:3) “runs counter to the exilic situation and imagines a rebuilt temple.”6 Although she may be right in dating these texts in the beginning of the Persian period, I wonder why hopes for restoration of the temple and the city cannot rise in a time when these are still in of Fortschreibungen can be found in Konrad Schmid, Buchgestalten des Jeremiabuches. Untersuchungen zur Redaktions- und Rezeptionsgeschichte von Jer 30-33 im Kontext des Buches (WMANT 72; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1996). 4  Her paper takes up ideas she developed earlier in Christl Maier, Jeremia als Lehrer der Tora: Soziale Gebote des Deuteronomiums in Fortschreibungen des Jeremiabuches (FRLANT 196; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2002). 5  Otto Eissfeldt, Geschichtsschreibung im Alten Testament (Berlin: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 1948). 6  Christl M. Maier, “The Nature of Deutero-Jeremianic Texts,” in this volume, see p. 103–23.

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ruins? The same question can be asked of her assertion that “obvious falsification of historical memory” cannot be dated shortly after the events it refers to. I think this statement can easily be challenged. Suffice it to recall General de Gaulle’s appeal immediately after the end of World War II, that France needs the “historical memory” that all French people were part of the Resistance, which is obviously “falsification of historical memory,” but a falsification that worked very well.7 3

“Deuteronomistic” and “Deutero-Jeremianic”

This distinction seems to me quite helpful. In discussing Jer 16:10–13, CM demonstrates that this passage, which depends on the Assyrian Strafgrunderfragung,8 should be understood, if I understand her correctly, as being part of the “exilic” Dtr edition of Jeremiah. She points out that phrases like “to abandon Yhwh” or “to follow other gods” are typical Dtr expressions. Additional arguments for Dtr style and ideology in this passage could be given: the characterization of the foreign gods as “not known by the fathers” is a stylistic device used in Deuteronomy, and the comparison of the present generation with the fathers, stating that the present one is behaving worse that the ancestors, appears in the Dtr prologue of the book of Judges in Judg 2:19 (where we have the exact same three verbs used to characterize the veneration of the “other gods”).9 Interestingly, this Dtr explanation of the exile is followed in Jer 16 by an oracle of salvation (vv. 14–15, not mentioned by CM), which sounds quite Dtr, but is in fact post-Dtr or “Deutero-Jeremianic.” This oracle, which has a parallel in Jer 23:7, transforms current Dtr expressions and ideas: the idea of a new exodus that is opposed to the old one comes close to Second Isaiah, and it is not a Dtr idea. The same holds true for the idea that Yhwh will gather the people from all lands of the earth.10 And even the Dtr formula of the “land given to the 7  Henry Rousso, Le syndrome de Vichy: de 1944 à nos jours (2d ed.; Points, Histoire 135; Paris: Ed. du Seuil, 1990); trans as: The Vichy Syndrome: History and Memory in France since 1944 (trans. A. Goldhammer; Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1991). 8  Dieter E. Skweres, “Das Motiv der Strafgrunderfragung in biblischen und neuassyrischen Texten,” BZ 14 (1970): 181–97. 9  For more details see Thomas Römer, Israels Väter: Untersuchungen zur Väterthematik im Deuteronomium und in der deuteronomistischen Tradition (OBO 99; Freiburg, Switz.; Göttingen: Universitätsverlag; Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1990), 415–17. 10  Ibid., Väter, 451–52; cf. also Johan Lust, “ ‘Gathering and Return’ in Jeremiah and Ezekiel,” in Le livre de Jérémie: le prophète et son milieu, les oracles et leur transmission (ed. Pierre M. Bogaert; BETL 54; Leuven: Peeters, 1981), 119–42, here 123.

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fathers” in v. 15 is altered in a way that never occurs in the DtrH through the use of a personal suffix to characterize the given land. In addition, the return from the “Northern country” recalls Jer 3:18, a passage that is clearly post-Dtr, as indicated by the unusual use of the root n-ḥ-l instead of n-t-n in the Landgabe formula. Summing up: in the case of Jer 16:10–15, it clearly appears that the DeuteroJeremianic texts presuppose the Dtr texts of the book and intend to correct them by means of an oracle of restoration. 4

The Case of the “Temple Sermon” (Jer 7)

With regard to the so-called Temple sermon in Jer 7, it seems to me still very Dtr and less “Deutero-Jeremianic” (DJ). Of course it is possible to extract vv. 5–8 from the Dtr version of this speech, but v. 8 is not the end of this passage. It instead introduces the second part of the Dtr speech, which ended in the earlier Dtr version either in v. 14 or v. 15. Both parts are constructed in parallel fashion. Verse 8 introduces with hinneh the assessment that the warning and admonitions in vv. 3–7 have not been respected. Verse 9 parallels the social and religious commandments of vv. 5 and 6, and v. 10 resumes the criticism of a magical understanding of the temple. The announcement of the destruction of the temple is compared to the destruction of Shiloh: v. 14 again contains a characterization of the temple as the “house on which my name is called,” which parallels v. 10, and it also mentions the gift of the “place” to the fathers, which alludes to vv. 3 and 7.11 According to CM’s understanding, one should also attribute v. 14 to a DJ redaction, but then the announcement of the destruction of the temple would be missing. Maybe in the case of Jer 7:1–14 the non-Dtr texts and terminology should not be labeled “DJ” but could be understood as conserving some parts of the original Jeremianic oracle (the list in Jer 7:9 could then be a precursor of a not yet existing Decalogue). CM is probably right that we cannot reconstruct the Jeremianic oracle verbatim, although Thiel’s heuristic reconstruction may come quite close to the original form.12 The “temple speech” may even be one of the starting points of the growth of the scroll of Jeremiah as indicated by the 11  Thomas Römer, “La conversion du prophète Jérémie à la théologie deutéronomiste,” in The Book of Jeremiah and Its Reception—Le livre de Jérémie et sa réception (ed. Adrian H. W. Curtis and Thomas Römer; BETL 128; Leuven: Peeters, 1997), 27-50, here 42–44. 12  W. Thiel, Die deuteronomistische Redaktion von Jeremiah 1-25 (WMANT 41; NeukirchenVluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1973), 144.

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double transmission of the oracle in chs. 7 and 26. Maybe Jer 7:1–15 is the Dtr version and ch. 26 the DJ revision focusing on the reaction of different groups of the audience to the prophetic oracle. The comparison between the temple of Jerusalem and the sanctuary of Shiloh reflects an ancient collective memory about the destruction of this important place at the beginning of the first millennium bce. In the Dtr revision of Jer 7, the mention of Shiloh was used in order to connect the existence of other Yahwistic sanctuaries with the Dtr ideology of centralization. The Dtr temple sermon therefore creates the idea of a succession of chosen places. According to Jer 7 and 26, Yhwh destroyed Shiloh before he chose to let his name dwell in Jerusalem. This is also an attempt to show that the stories about Shiloh in 1 Sam 1–3 are not opposed to the Dtr idea of cult centralization. The discourse about the temple in Jer 7:1–15 should therefore be labeled “Dtr.” I completely agree with CM that the Dtr texts in Jer did not arise out of the activity of Dtr preachers roaming the country,13 the Deuteronomists were certainly a small group of intellectuals working either in Babylon or Jerusalem. Returning to Jer 7, its Dtr character can be further demonstrated by the fact that Jer 7 has strong connections with Solomon’s temple speech in 1 Kgs 8, which is of course multilayered, but most of its should be considered “Dtr.” In my view, 1 Kgs 8 and Jer 7 have exactly the same aim. Both intend to correct the popular Zionist ideology of the inviolability of the temple; both texts also attempt to show that Yhwh is not intrinsically linked to the place where his name is invoked. There are also quite a significant number of parallels in vocabulary, which underlines the idea that both speeches should be read as responding to one another. The characterization of the temple as the place in which Yhwh’s name is invoked in Jer 7:10 and 14 has a close parallel in 1 Kgs 8:43. First Kings 8:36 and Jer 7:3, 5 mention the “good way” in which the audience should walk, and the Dtr expression of the “land given to the fathers” appears several times in both chapters.14 For these reasons I think that Jer 7:1–15 is more “Dtr” than “DJ.” One may therefore question whether the transformation of Jeremiah into a preacher of the Torah should be attributed to a DJ 13  As advocated by Enno Janssen, Juda in der Exilszeit: ein Beitrag zur Frage der Entstehung des Judentums (FRLANT 69; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1956) and Ernest W. Nicholson, Preaching to the Exiles: A Study of the Prose Tradition in the Book of Jeremiah (Oxford: Blackwell, 1970). 14  Thomas Römer, “Y a t-il une rédaction deutéronomiste dans le livre de Jérémie ?,” in Israël construit son histoire: L’historiographie deutéronomiste à la lumière des recherches récentes (ed. Albert de Pury, et al.; MdB 34; Geneva: Labor et Fides, 1996), 419–41, esp. 434–35.

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revision or to a “Torah-oriented layer” in Jeremiah, or whether this idea had its roots in the earlier Dtr edition of the book. 5

The Prophet, a “Preacher of the Law”

Deuteronomy 18:15–22 lays out the notion that Yhwh will repeatedly send prophets like Moses in order to exhort the people to respect his Law. This idea continues in the book of Kings, where an anonymous group of prophets appears that are characterized as Yhwh’s servants. Their function is to exhort the people to obey Yhwh’s law: “Yet Yhwh warned Israel and Judah by every prophet and every seer, saying, ‘Turn from your evil ways and keep my commandments and my statutes, in accordance with all the law that I commanded your fathers and that I sent to you by my servants the prophets’” (2 Kgs 17:13). They also announce the imminent fall of Israel and Judah due to failure of the people and the kings to respect the torah (2 Kgs 17:23; 21:10–12; 24:2). These texts transform the “traditional” prophets into preachers of the law, whose aim is to exhort the audience to change their behavior in order to avoid divine punishment. In the context of the Persian period, this new function given to the prophets can be understood as an attempt to redefine prophetic activity after the events of 587 bce. And this is exactly what happens for Jeremiah in 7:1–15 and elsewhere. It has often been observed that Jer 1 describes the prophet’s call in a way that relates Jeremiah to Moses.15 Jeremiah 1:7, 9 can be understood as a quotation of Deut 18:18, where Moses is presented as Israel’s first prophet. This parallel indicates that Jeremiah is a “new Moses” of a sort. Of course one has to decide whether the original account of Jer 1:4–10* should be understood as “Dtr” or “DJ”. For the redactors of Jer 1, Moses was apparently the first and Jeremiah was the last of Yhwh’s prophets, and they presupposed that the intended audience of the scroll had knowledge of Deuteronomy and the books of Kings.

15  Sebastian Grätz, “‘Einen Propheten wie mich wird dir der Herr, dein Gott, erwecken’: Der Berufungsbericht Jeremias und seine Rückbindung an das Amt des Mose,” in Moses in Biblical and Extra-Biblical Traditions (ed. Axel Graupner and Michael Wolter; BZAW 372; Berlin: de Gruyter, 2007), 61–77; Thomas Römer, “Du livre au prophète. Stratégies rédactionnelles dans le rouleau prémassorétique de Jérémie,” in Les recueils prophétiques de la Bible. Origines, milieux, et contexte proche-oriental (ed. Jean-Daniel Macchi, et al.; MdB 64; Geneva: Labor et Fides, 2012), 255–82.

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Intertextuality between Jeremiah and Kings

Let me raise a final observation about the manifold intertextual links between texts from the so-called DtrH and the book of Jeremiah. We have already mentioned Deut 18 and Jer 1 as well as 1 Kgs 8 and Jer 7. To this we should add that Jer 52 provides an end to Jeremiah that is parallel with the conclusion of Kings. This redactional strategy recalls the end of Chronicles and the beginning of the book of Ezra. The identical conclusion is an indication from the redactors that the books of Kings and Jeremiah should be read and understood together.16 The focus on exile distinguishes the book of Jeremiah from the books of Isaiah and Ezekiel, which both end with an eschatological outlook, bringing Jeremiah very close to Kings or the whole Dtr History. One should further mention the parallel accounts in 2 Kgs 22–23 and Jer 36, which both focus on the reaction of the king to a book that is transmitted to the king by a member of the Shaphan family.17 Interestingly there are also parallels between the prophetess Huldah and the prophet Jeremiah. When commenting on the discovered book in 2 Kgs 22, Huldah speaks as if she were a female Jeremiah.18 Of course, all these texts cannot be put on the same redactional level. Some of them are dtr, others are DJ, but they all aim apparently at linking the scroll of Jeremiah closely to the DtrH. 7

A Suggestion for Further Research

In her abstract for the conference paper CM indicates that her paper “also tries to reconstruct the intellectual and theological milieus that produced such

16  Norbert Lohfink, “Gab es eine deuteronomische Bewegung?,” in Jeremia und die “deuteronomistische Bewegung” (ed. Walter Groß; BBB 98; Weinheim: Beltz Athenäum, 1995), 313–82. 17  Charles D. Isbell, “2 Kings 22-23 and Jer 36: A Stylistic Comparison,” JSOT 8 (1978), 33–45; Caetano Minette de Tillesse, “Joiaqim, repoussoir du ‘pieux’ Josias: Parallélismes entre II Reg 22 et Jer 36,” ZAW 105 (1993), 352–76. 18  Michael Pietsch, “Prophetess of Doom: Hermeneutical Reflections on the Huldah Oracle (2 Kings 22),” in Soundings in Kings, Perspectives and Methods in Contemporary Scholarship (ed. Klaus-Peter Adam and Mark Leuchter; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2010), 71–80; Thomas Römer, “From Prophet to Scribe: Jeremiah, Huldah and the Invention of the Book,” in Writing the Bible: Scribes, Scribalism and Script (ed. Philip R. Davies and Thomas Römer; BibleWorld; Durham: Acumen, 2013), 86–96.

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expansions.”19 She remains quite discreet on this question. Maybe one way to progress further in this difficult area of scholarship would be to consider the authors/redactors of the DJ texts as related to the Dtr redactors of the book. The DJ texts could then be considered as linked to the attempt to revise the scroll of Jeremiah in order to make it a supplement to the DtrH. But this question is controversial and needs further investigation and discussion.

19  Christl Maier, “The Nature of Deutero-Jeremianic Texts,” Paper presented at the Jeremiah Conference on July 22–26, 2014 on the Monte Verità, Switzerland.

chapter 9

A Gap between Style and Context? A Response to Christl M. Maier Laura Carlson In this paper, Professor Maier demonstrates that the interpretive tradition within our canonical text of Jeremiah is even more dynamic than we had previously supposed. Her paper raises three fundamental questions regarding the identification of Deutero-Jeremianic prose. Though the questions are not new, in raising them, Maier sheds fresh light on their assumptions and possibilities; a task that I would like to push a bit further. The questions that she raises are as follows: 1) 2) 3)

How do we delineate ideological inconsistencies within the text of Jeremiah? How do we adjudicate authorial difference in the wake of these inconsistences? How do we reconstruct not only the ideology but identify the particular time-bound community that might have produced this text (or better, these layers of text)?

Maier makes a compelling case for the link between ideological disjuncture and redactional diversity. It is, however, the third and final question (that which deals with the link between redactional layers and history) that I would like to explore further here. What is so useful about Maier’s formulation is her insistence that DeuteroJeremianic prose is a style of discourse. She understands this prose on a stylistic and, indeed, on a phenomenological level rather than strictly tethering it to a specific author or context. It is, as she and others have pointed out, a style that can be adopted, imitated, and adapted. This prose, therefore, can not be affixed to a single person, nor does it necessarily maintain a stable ideological perspective. It is primarily a rhetorical form. The difficulty arises, as it often does, when we move from differentiating various perspectives within a text—and indeed different redactional hands— to locating these perspectives in history or aligning them with a particular

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group. In this paper, Maier acknowledges that this move from ideology to provenance is complicated. I would like to push these questions further, taking up the methodological problems that often pervade the relationship we construct between textually-expressed ideology and group identification. In others words, what do ideological fractures in texts have to do with history? Of course, the answer to that is “everything”: this and every text was produced and edited as the result of an infinitely complex network of social and political factors. But the question becomes whether or not we can responsibly map these networks onto texts and communities? As Benjamin Sommer has pointed out, “this task often begins when we ask ourselves (in search of a clear answer), with whom . . . this would have resonated.” It begins, he argues, “with the presumption that a certain idea belongs in a particular era.”1 Sommer points out that we tether texts—or textual layers—according to strangely fixed, but often conflicting assumptions: in some cases, the text must reflect the values, experiences, or objects we presume to have been either ascendant to or physically present in a certain context; in other cases, however, we assume that a certain text must have been written when its positions are particularly unpopular and its articulation was generated by the urgency to reassert its validity.2 While neither of these intuitions are inherently illogical, the difficulty comes when we confine an author’s positions or imagination to the small range of sociohistorical contexts that we can reconstruct. In light of this, I suggest that we may perhaps reconsider the link made here between these texts and the late postexilic era. Is it the case, for example, that the language in Jer 22 that speaks about the “gates” in Jerusalem and the “return” would have been more conceivable or logical in this era? This suggestion assumes that these authors are constrained to, or more likely to, write about what they observe instead of what they hope for. This assumption, as we see in our contemporary world, is simply not the case. Exilic-era memory or fantasy or early postexilic hope may just have plausibly produced the same rhetoric. My point here is not to suggest that a (late) postexilic dating for the strands Maier identifies is necessarily incorrect, but to question both the method and utility of assessing the likelihood of these standards. Can we imagine other (if finally, more limited) methods of how to make the jump between ideology and context? 1  Benjamin D. Sommer. “Dating Pentateuchal Texts and the Perils of Pseudo-Historicism,” in The Pentateuch: International Perspectives on Current Research (ed. Tom B. Dozeman, Konrad Schmid, and Baruch J. Schwartz; FAT 78; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011), 85–108 at 98. 2  Sommer, “Dating Pentateuchal Texts,” 101.

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Importantly, Maier’s insistence on “Deutero-Jeremianic” as a style and not as material stemming from a fixed group acknowledges the slippery logic that pervades the relationship we construe between ideology and context. With this, we avoid the conclusion that in order for texts to share ideas and vocabulary, either they must have been contemporary to each other or they must share a direct literary relationship. Maier’s explanation of the nature and function of Deutero-Jeremianic prose helpfully reminds us to move away from the presumption of its historical fixity. It is, rather, a style—imbued with theology—that was generated in many eras. In this spirit, I would suggest that we continue to question and reformulate our means of assessing the provenance of such strata, asking whether affixing ideology to context is indeed our best means of approaching this task.

chapter 10

Deutero-Jeremianic Language in the Temple Sermon. A Response to Christl M. Maier William L. Kelly More than a little ink has been spilled in discussing the relationship between the books of Jeremiah, Deuteronomy, and the so-called Deuteronomistic History.1 A long history of debate continues unabated in either—depending on one’s perspective—one of the most important or most overwrought issues in Jeremiah scholarship.2 In her paper, Maier has contributed to the 1  “Deuteronomistic History” in this context simply refers to the books of Josh, Judg, 1–2 Sam, and 1–2 Kgs. 2  Books and articles on the subject are legion. A sample of important recent works includes Walter Groß, ed., Jeremia und die “deuteronomistische Bewegung” (BBB 98; Weinheim: Athenaum Verlag, 1995); Moshe Weinfeld, Deuteronomy and the Deuteronomic School (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1972); Leo G. Perdue and Brian W. Kovacs, eds., A Prophet to the Nations: Essays in Jeremiah Studies (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 1984); Albert de Pury et al., eds., Israël construit son histoire: L’historiographie deutéronomiste à la lumière des recherches récentes (MdB 34; Geneva: Labor et Fides, 1996); Thomas C. Römer, “La conversion du prophète Jérémie à la théologie deutéronomiste,” in The Book of Jeremiah and Its Reception—Le livre Jérémie et sa réception (ed. Adrian H. W. Curtis and Thomas C. Römer; BETL 128; Leuven: Peeters, 1997), 27–50; ibid., ed. The Future of the Deuteronomistic History (BETL 147; Leuven: Peeters, 2000); ibid., The So-Called Deuteronomistic History: A Sociological, Historical and Literary Introduction (London: T&T Clark, 2005); Linda S. Schearing and Steven L. McKenzie, eds., Those Elusive Deuteronomists: The Phenomenon of Pan-Deuteronomism (JSOTSup 268; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1999); Odil Hannes Steck, Israel und das gewaltsame Geschick der Propheten: Untersuchungen zur Überlieferung des deuteronomistischen Geschichtsbildes im Alten Testament, Spätjudentum und Urchristentum (WMANT 23; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1967); Konrad Schmid, “The Deuteronomistic Image of History as an Interpretive Device in the Second Temple Period: Towards a LongTerm Interpretation of ‘Deuteronomism,’” in Congress Volume Helsinki 2010 (ed. Martti Nissinen; VTSup 148; Leiden: Brill, 2012), 36–88; Louis Stulman, The Prose Sermons of the Book of Jeremiah: A Redescription of the Correspondences with Deuteronomistic Literature in the Light of Recent Text-critical Research (SBLDS 83; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1986); Winfried Thiel, Die deuteronomistische Redaktion von Jeremia 1–25 (WMANT 41; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener, 1973); ibid., Die deuteronomistische Redaktion von Jeremia 26–45 (WMANT 52; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener, 1981); Markus Witte et al., eds., Die deuteronomistischen

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sophisticated attempts in current research to delineate between Jeremianic texts which often have been subsumed in the category of “Deuteronomistic.”3 These attempts focus on the styles, phrases, and ideologies particular to the book’s prose speeches (Jer 7; 11; 17; 22; 26; 34; 35; 44) and narratives (Jer 26–29; 36–43), aiming for greater precision and clarity in their interpretation. Maier discusses a number of important texts in her paper; in the interest of space, the important few verses of 7:3–8 from the temple sermon in 7:1–8:3 will be the focus of this response. Jer 7:3–8 (MT)4 ‫כה־אמר יהוה צבאות אלהי יׂשראל היטיבו דרכיכם ומעלליכם ואׁשכנה אתכם במקום‬3 ‫אל־תבטחו לכם אל־דברי הׁשקר לאמר היכל יהוה היכל יהוה היכל יהוה המה׃‬4 ‫הזה׃‬ ‫כי אם־היטיב תיטיבו את־דרכיכם ואת־מעלליכם אם־עׂשו תעׂשו מׁשפט בין איׁש ובין‬5 ‫גר יתום ואלמנה לא תעׁשקו ודם נקי אל־תׁשפכו במקום הזה ואחרי אלהים‬6 ‫רעהו׃‬ ‫וׁשכנתי אתכם במקום הזה בארץ אׁשר נתתי לאבותיכם‬7 ‫אחרים לא תלכו לרע לכם׃‬ ‫הנה אתם בטחים לכם על־דברי הׁשקר לבלתי הועיל׃‬8 ‫למן־עולם ועד־עולם׃‬ Following the instructions Yahweh gives to Jeremiah (7:1–2), these verses list a series of exhortations to the people of Jerusalem regarding their social and cultic practices. If the people mend their ways, then they will be allowed to remain in ‫המקום הזה‬, a key theme of the passage (7:3). Trust in the sanctity of a particular place is illusory without adherence to its most basic demands, and the words of 7:4 cannot be a substitute for the conventional ethical behaviors prescribed in 7:5–6. If the people follow these demands for social justice, and do not follow other gods, then Yahweh will allow them to remain in the land (7:7). The criticism of 7:8 reflects the tone of judgment in the rest of 7:1–15, which continue to stress the interrelationship of ethics and worship. Just as Yahweh abandoned the once sacred place (‫ )מקום‬of Shiloh because of the wickedness of the people, so will he do the same with Jerusalem (7:12–15). Geschichtswerke: Redaktions- und religionsgeschichtliche Perspektiven zur “Deuteronomismus”Diskussion in Tora und Vorderen Propheten (BZAW 365; Berlin: de Gruyter, 2006). 3  On the tendency toward “pan-deuteronomism,” see Norbert Lohfink, “Gab es eine deuteronomistische Bewegung?” in Jeremia und die “deuteronomistische Bewegung”, 313–82. 4  On the Deutero-Jeremianic language in the text, see Hermann-Josef Stipp, Deuterojere­ mianische Konkordanz (Arbeiten zu Text und Sprache im Alten Testament 63; St. Ottilien: EOS, 1998). Another helpful resource is Stulman, Prose Sermons of the Book of Jeremiah. In my view it would be more productive to discuss at least Jer 7:1–15 in the larger setting of 7:1–8:3, but following Maier, the text unit of 7:3–8 will be examined.

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According to Maier, this text is a postexilic expansion of Deuteronomistic ideas; the repetitions in Jer 7:3, 5 and 7:4, 8 are indications of reworking, and the Alternativpredigt pattern in 7:5–7 stands in tension with the text’s declarations of inevitable doom (cf. 7:15).5 It is not clear to me that one can reconstruct Deutero-Jeremianic styles which are readily distinguishable from other styles in the book. As I understand Maier’s argument, discovering the “nature” of Deutero-Jeremianic texts requires three steps which present their own problems and difficulties. First one must clarify how Deutero-Jeremianic texts differ from other Jeremiah traditions in style or ideology. Second one must distinguish clearly between Deutero-Jeremianic and Deuteronomistic styles. Third one must explain how this secondary language elaborates and extends Deuteronomistic ideas into two distinct ideologies, one pro-gôlâ and one proJudean. As it will become evident in this short response, I am not convinced that this operation is entirely possible. 1

Divergence from Other Jeremiah Traditions

Though Jer 7:3–8 may be a reworked text and may share elements of a style which can be called Deuteronomistic, it is also clearly built upon earlier parts of the Jeremiah tradition. Maier suggests that the Deutero-Jeremianic style draws upon an easily reproduced repertoire of phrases that is present in multiple redactional layers of the book. In the case of Thiel’s Alternativpredigt, Maier suggests that the style is a postexilic literary imitation of question and answer patterns found in Jer 4–6. This reworking of the Jeremiah tradition results in expansions in 7:5–8, as well as newly written texts in 17:19–27 and 22:1–5. It is difficult to see how the linguistic features in Jer 7:3–8 are so distinct from other texts in Jeremiah. While one might have an overall impression that the text of 7:3–8 is thoroughly Deutero-Jeremianic, much of its language is also found in other non-Deutero-Jeremianic passages as well. The combination of ‫ דרך‬with ‫ מעלל‬in 7:3, 5 may have originated in 4:18, and it is also found in 17:10;

5  Her appraisal of the text is very close to Carolyn J. Sharp, Prophecy and Ideology in Jeremiah: Struggles for Authority in the Deutero-Jeremianic Prose (OTS; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 2003), 44–50. Cf. Christl M. Maier, Jeremia als Lehrer der Tora. Soziale Gebote des Deuteronomiums in Fortschreibungen des Jeremiabuchs (FRLANT 196; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2002), 62–91.

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18:11; 23:22; 25:5; 26:13; 32:19; 35:15.6 The use of ‫ בטח‬in 7:4, 8 is similar to 5:17, where trust given to geographical space (cf. ‫ )ערי מבצריך‬is also denounced,7 and the combination of ‫ בטח‬and ‫ שׁקר‬appears in 13:25.8 In Jer 5:1 we find a similar combination of ‫ משׁפט‬and ‫ עׂשה‬to 7:5, and ‫ מׁשפט‬is linked to deprived social classes (‫ יתום‬and ‫ )אביונים‬in 5:28. Other linguistic elements in Jer 7:3–8 bear close similarity to passages outside of both the Deuteronomistic History and Jeremiah. The Dreifachsetzung in 7:4 is unique to the book of Jeremiah, and a similar construction with ‫ארץ‬ is also found in 22:29; however, the form is mirrored in the trisagion of Isa 6:3 and the monarchic criticism of Ezek 21:32.9 The reference to ‫ דם נקי‬together with ‫ שׁפך‬in 7:6 is considered to be typically Deuteronomistic, though it also appears in Isa 59:7; Joel 4:19; Ps 106:38; and Prov 6:17.10 The term ‫ לבלתי‬in Jer 7:8 occurs frequently in Jeremiah, though the exact phrase ‫ לבלתי הועיל‬is only found here and in Isa 44:10.11

6   Maier notes the possibility that the phrase originates from Jer 4:18; see Maier, Jeremia als Lehrer der Tora, 69. The specific phrase ‫ היטיבו דרכיכם ומעלליכם‬is limited to the prose contexts of 7:3, 5; 18:11; 26:13; 35:15. See also Judg 2:19; Ezek 36:31; Hos 4:9; 12:3; Zech 1:4, 6. Stipp also notes the similarity of ‫ מה־תיטבי דרכך לבקׁש אהבה‬in Jer 2:33. Stipp, Deuterojeremianische Konkordanz, 40. The verb ‫ יטב‬hiphil in combination with ‫דרך‬ in the textual unit of 2:33–37 also includes accusations of injustice toward the poor (cf. ‫ דם נפׁשות אביונים‬in 2:34 and ‫ דם נקי‬in 7:6) similar to the reference to the personae miserae in 7:6. William L. Holladay, “Elusive Deuteronomists, Jeremiah, and ProtoDeuteronomy,” CBQ 66 (2004): 55–77 at 61. See also Stulman, Prose Sermons of the Book of Jeremiah, 43. 7  See also Jer 7:14; 9:3; 12:5; 13:25; 17:5, 7; 39:18; 46:25; 48:7; 49:4, 11; cf. 28:15; 29:31; ‫ מבטח‬in 2:37; 17:7; 48:13. Stulman, Prose Sermons of the Book of Jeremiah, 44. 8  Cf. Jer 28:15; 29:31. 9  On the similarities shared by these texts, see David J. Reimer, “On Triplets in a Trio of Prophets,” in Let us Go up to Zion: Essays in Honour of H. G. M. Williamson on the Occasion of his Sixty-Fifth Birthday (ed. Iain Provan and Mark J. Boda; VTSup 153; Leiden: Brill, 2012): 203–17. 10  See Deut 19:10; 2 Kgs 21:16; 24:4; cf. Jer 22:3, 17. Stipp, Deuterojeremianische Konkordanz, 39; Stulman, Prose Sermons of the Book of Jeremiah, 34. 11  Jer 16:12; 17:23 (x2), 24 (x2), 27; 18:10; 19:15; 23:14; 26:24; 27:18; 32:40; 33:20; 34:9, 10; 35:8, 9, 14; 36:25; 38:26; 42:13; 44:5, 7; 51:62. Similar uses of ‫ יעל‬are found in polemics against foreign gods in 2:8, 11; 16:19 (cf. 1 Sam 12:21; Isa 44:9, 10; cf. possibly Hos 7:16) and against prophets in 7:8; 23:32 (cf. 2:8; Isa 47:12). The exact phrase ‫ למן־עולם ועד־עולם‬appears only in 7:7 and 25:5, though Stipp lists other occurrences of the phrase, all of which omit the ‫ ל‬and include the article with ‫ ;העולם‬cf. Ps 41;14; 90:2; 103:17; 106:48 (1 Chr 16:36); Neh 9:5; 1 Chr 29:10. Stipp, Deuterojeremianische Konkordanz, 101.

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Maier is clearly aware of the links between Jer 7:3–8 and other Jeremianic traditions. However, her suggested historical scenario for the Alternativpredigt of 7:5–7 explains the way in which its Deutero-Jeremianic language indicates textual expansion. Claiming that the alternatives presented in the temple sermon run counter to the exilic situation (cf. 7:3, 25, 26),12 she asserts that they only make sense in a postexilic setting with a rebuilt temple and dismisses Thiel’s suggestion of a Judean setting. Once one assumes that the redaction of the text is very late, this logic is sound, but would not the alternative in 7:3 make sense in a preexilic or exilic historical setting? The cultic and ethical concerns of 7:3–8 are quite similar to other Jeremianic texts, such as 2:4–8 or 6:16–21, and would not be out of place in an exilic context. 2

Divergence from Deuteronomistic Language

The vagueness of the term “Deuteronomistic” still troubles scholarship on Jeremiah, the corpus propheticum, and even the so-called Deuteronomistic History itself.13 One has the sense in reading some scholarship that the identification of Deuteronomistic aspects of many texts follows an “I know 12  Maier claims that Jer 7:16–8:3 are only loosely connected to 7:1–15, which raises the question as to whether or not the alternatives in 7:25–26 are linked to 7:3. 13  The problems at this stage are notorious and pervasive. First there are the difficulties in defining terms and clearly delineating between “Deuteronomic” and “Deuteronomistic.” Richard J. Coggins, “What Does ‘Deuteronomistic’ Mean?” in Words Remembered, Texts Renewed: Essays in Honour of John F. A. Sawyer (ed. Jon Davies et al.; JSOTSup 195; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1995), 135–48. Second there are the problems with a unified notion of “Deuteronomistic school” or even of a “Deuteronomistic History.” Lohfink, “Gab es eine deuteronomistische Bewegung?”; A. Graeme Auld, “The Deuteronomists and the Former Prophets, or What Makes the Former Prophets Deuteronomistic?” in Those Elusive Deuteronomists, 116–26. Third there are problems with differentiating between Deuteronomistic redaction and Deuteronomistic influence, the latter of which might be traced in both directions. Robert A. Kugler, “The Deuteronomists and the Latter Prophets,” in Those Elusive Deuteronomists, 127–44 at 129; Hans M. Barstad, “The Understanding of the Prophets in Deuteronomy,” SJOT 8 (1994): 249–51; Auld, “Jeremiah–Manasseh– Samuel: Significant Triangle? Or Vicious Circle?” in Prophecy in the Book of Jeremiah (ed. Hans M. Barstad and Reinhard G. Kratz; BZAW 388; Berlin: de Gruyter, 2009), 1–9. Lastly it may be better to explain some theological similarities across different texts in terms of an ancient Near Eastern Einheitskultur. Barstad, “Deuteronomists, Persians, Greeks, and the Dating of the Israelite Tradition,” in Did Moses Speak Attic? Jewish Historiography and Scripture in the Hellenistic Period (ed. Lester L. Grabbe; JSOTSup 317; European Seminar in Historical Methodology 3; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2001), 57–91.

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it when I see it” method;14 it is as though scholars can taste the flavor of a Deuteronomistic text but cannot agree on the recipe and ingredients. While it may be at times a correct categorization, a valid result does not imply a valid procedure. There are still unresolved methodological issues in the right categorization of texts as Deuteronomistic. Maier is right to emphasize that the term must be reserved for texts which share theological and ideological affinities with the so-called Deuteronomistic History.15 Language and style must not be conflated with substance, and in this regard she is right to assume a critical stance in relation to the work of Thiel. Still, while language cannot be the sole criterion for defining the Deuteronomistic aspects of a given text, it is more subjective and difficult to define appropriate ideological or theological criteria. Despite some of the above problems, it is still widely held that the temple sermon is a Deuteronomistic text.16 Textual evidence such as the combination of ‫ אלהים‬together with ‫ הלך‬in Jer 7:6 is usually understood as deeply resonant with Deuteronomistic ideology.17 Mention of the personae miserae with ‫ גר יתום ואלמנה‬in 7:6 is similar to several texts in Deuteronomy.18 The Cf. Morton Smith, “The Common Theology of the Ancient Near East,” JBL 71 (1952): 135–47. 14  The phrase is best known from Justice Potter Stewart’s concurring opinion in Jacobellis v. Ohio, 378 U.S. 184, 197 (1964). In another serendipitous parallel to the “Deuteronomism” issue, Stewart used this phrase in frustration over “trying to define what may be indefinable.” For discussion of “one of the most famous phrases in the entire history of Supreme Court opinions”, see Paul Gewirtz, “On ‘I Know It When I See It,’” Yale Law Journal 105 (1996): 1023–47. 15   Stipp, “Probleme des redaktionsgeschichtlichen Modells der Entstehung des Jeremiabuches,” in Jeremia und die “deuteronomistische Bewegung”, 225–62 at 258. See the list of terms assembled in Weinfeld, Deuteronomy and the Deuteronomic School, 398–404. 16  Stulman, Prose Sermons of the Book of Jeremiah, 62–63; Theodor Seidl, “Jeremias Tempelrede. Polemik gegen die joschijanische Reform? Die Paralleltraditionen Jer 7 und 26 auf ihre Effizienz für das Deuteronomismusproblem in Jeremia befragt,” in Jeremia und die “deuteronomistische Bewegung”, 141–79. 17  Other occurrences in Jeremiah are 7:9; 11:10; 13:10; 16:11; 25:6; 35:15; cf. Deut 6:14; 8:19; 11:28; 13:3; 28:14; Judg 2:12, 19; 1 Kgs 11:10. Stipp, Deuterojeremianische Konkordanz, 16–18. See also Stulman, Prose Sermons of the Book of Jeremiah, 33. Similar constructions with ‫הלך‬ deserve mention: ‫ ׁשררות לב‬in Jer 3:17; 9:13; 16:12; ‫ בעלים‬in Jer 2:23; 9:13; cf. Deut 4:3; 1 Kgs 18:18, 21; ‫ הבל‬in Jer 2:5; cf. 2 Kgs 17:15; ‫ יהוה‬in Jer 2:2; cf. Deut 13:5; 1 Kgs 14:8; 18:21; 2 Kgs 23:3 (=2 Chr 34:31); Hos 11:10; ‫ מחׁשבות‬in Jer 18:12; cf. Isa 65:2. 18  The same list of ‫גר‬, ‫יתום‬, and ‫ אלמנה‬appears in Deut 14:29; 16:11, 14; 24:19, 20, 21; 26:12, 13; 27:19; with some variation in terms it appears in Zech 7:10; Mal 3:5; and the same terms in different order appear in Deut 24:17; Ezek 22:7; Ps 146:9; cf. Ex 22:20–21; Deut 10:18–19; Ps

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reference to the land as a gift to the fathers in 7:7 shares affinity with typically Deuteronomistic themes.19 Maier also affirms that rejection of the worship of ‫ אלהים אחרים‬and the emphasis on cultic purity (7:9–10) along with obedience to divine commands (7:9) are typical Deuteronomistic ideas in this basically exilic text. A strong case can be made for understanding 7:1–15 as a Deuteronomistic text. Once again it is not clear to me that one can demarcate a Deutero-Jeremianic expansion from these Deuteronomistic features of Jer 7:3–8. Despite Maier’s attempt to link the commandment not to shed innocent blood in 7:6 and 22:3 to criticisms of Jehoiakim (cf. 22:17; 26:20–23), the expansions in 7:5–7 are probably best considered Deuteronomistic. Additional features of the text highlighted by Römer, such as the Deuteronomistic association of Yahweh’s name with the temple (Jer 7:10; 1 Kgs 8:43) and the possible redactional links between 7:5, 7; 25:5; 35:15, weaken the claim that the expansions in 7:5–7 derive from a Deutero-Jeremianic redactor.20 3

Divergence among Deutero-Jeremianic Texts

Maier closely follows the work of Sharp, who has identified two distinct redactions in Deutero-Jeremianic prose, one pro-gôlâ and another pro-Judean.21 94:6. Stipp, Deuterojeremianische Konkordanz, 33; Stulman, Prose Sermons of the Book of Jeremiah, 40. 19  See also Jer 11:5; 30:3; 32:22. Römer, Israels Väter: Untersuchungen zur Väterthematik im Deuteronomium und in der deuteronomistischen Tradition (OBO 99; Fribourg: Universitätsverlag, 1990), 443–45. Cf. Exod 13:5, 11; Deut 1:8, 35; 6:10, 23; 10:11; 19:8; 26:3; 31:7; Josh 1:6; 5:6; 21:43; 1 Kgs 8:48 (=2 Chr 6:38); Ezek 20:42; 36:28; 47:14; Neh 9:36; cf. Deut 11:9; 26:15; compare with similar passages, where ‫ אבות‬is absent but the name of a patriarch is present, in Gen 28:4; 35:12; Ex 6:8; 32:13; 33;1; Deut 34:4; Ezek 37:25. Similar variations of giving ‫ אדמה‬to the fathers in 16:15; 24:10; 25:5; 35:15 (cf. Deut 7:13; 11:9, 21; 26:15; 28:11; 30:20; 1 Kgs 8:34, 40 (2 Chr 6:25, 31); 14:15; 2 Kgs 21:8 (2 Chr 33:8). N.B. Jer 3:18, where the promise of return is combined with the phrase ‫הארץ אׁשר הנחלתי את־אבותיכם‬. Cf. Stulman, Prose Sermons of the Book of Jeremiah, 33. 20  Römer, “Du livre au prophète: Stratégies rédactionnelles dans le rouleau prémassorétique de Jérémie,” in Les recuils prophétiques de la Bible: Origines, milieux, et contexte procheoriental (ed. Jean-Daniel Macchi et al.; MdB 64; Geneva: Labor et Fides, 2012), 278–81. See also ibid., “The Formation of the Book of Jeremiah as a Supplement to the So-called Deuteronomistic History,” in The Production of Prophecy: Constructing Prophecy and Prophets in Yehud (ed. Diana V. Edelman and Ehud Ben Zvi; London: Equinox, 2003), 168– 83, esp. 174–76. 21  Sharp, Prophecy and Ideology in Jeremiah, 157–69. In the temple sermon, Sharp identifies Jer 7:1–3, 5–7, 8, 9–13a, 14, 17–19, 30–34; 8:1–3 with the pro-gôlâ platform and 7:4, 13b, 15, 16,

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These competing perspectives advocate opposing political viewpoints: the pro-gôlâ platform assumes an accommodationist stance toward Babylonian authority and hopes for restoration by means of repentance; the pro-Judean platform resists any pro-Babylonian views and proclaims a message of divine judgment in the form of irremediable doom and inescapable destruction. One of the key texts Sharp uses to advance this argument is Jer 7:1–15, and Maier agrees with her basic assessment that the text contains two distinct ideologies. While Maier expresses some reservations regarding Sharp’s notion of a systematic pro-gôlâ redaction, she sees similar redactional seams in 7:3–8. According to Sharp, Jer 7:3, 5–7 represent the interests of Babylonian exiles, while 7:4 should be understood as a part of a separate Judean platform. After the flow of the passage is interrupted by 7:4, the Alternativpredigt of 7:5–7 mitigates the unavoidable doom declared in the rest of the sermon (cf. 7:15).22 Maier understands the repetitions in 7:3, 5 and in 7:4, 8 as indications of an expanded text. While the rest of 7:1–15 sees doom as inevitable, the expansions in 7:3, 5–7 assume that it is possible to avert judgment via repentance. The apparent disjunctions in Jer 7:3–8 depend upon a particular understanding of “true” and “false” prophecy supported by the apparently problematic ‫ המה‬in 7:4. Maier and Sharp both understand the referent of ‫ המה‬to be the temple authorities, thus the verse criticizes the “false” prophets’ belief in the sanctity of the Jerusalem temple (cf. 5:31; 6:13 = 8:10; 20:6). Conversely, the “true” prophet’s proclamation of doom is inconsistent with the possibility of averting disaster suggested by 7:3, 5–8 (cf. 28:8–9). As Reimer has argued, however, it is better to account for the ‫ המה‬in 7:4 as a resumptive pronoun whose antecedent is ‫דברי הׁשקר‬.23 Thus the deceptive nature of the Dreifachsetzung has to do with misplacing one’s trust in a name and place, as with Shiloh in

20, 21–28 (29?) with the pro-Judean platform. For an earlier description of a gôlâ redaction, see Karl-Friedrich Pohlmann, Studien zum Jeremiabuch: Ein Beitrag zur Frage nach der Entstehung des Jeremiabuches (FRLANT 118; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1978), 183–97. 22  Römer considers the possibility that Jer 7:4 interrupts the sequence of 7:3, 5–7 and therefore “könnte ein Hinweis darauf sein, daß hier ‘älteres Material’ vorliegt,” but he does not press this issue any further. Römer, Israels Väter, 443. 23  See Sharp, Prophecy and Ideology in Jeremiah, 46–47. Reimer explains that after ‫לאמר‬ introduces direct speech, “what follows in v. 4b has the character of a nominal clause with the three-fold recitation of direct speech the predicate for which the final ‫ המה‬is the subject.” The result is that ‫ המה‬functions as a resumptive pronoun; i.e. the “deceptive words” are ‫היכל יהוה היכל יהוה היכל יהוה‬. Reimer, “On Triplets in a Trio of Prophets,” 211.

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7:14, rather than following the advice of the wrong advisors.24 Mending one’s ways involves more than affirming a right theological or ideological position. My sense is that the horse and cart may have exchanged places in Maier’s analysis; just as style and substance ought not be conflated in the case of Deuteronomistic language, the same must be true for Deutero-Jeremianic language. While the style of the Alternativpredigt is different from an announcement of unavoidable doom, it may not signal such a sharp departure from the basic message of the remainder of the temple sermon. That is to say, 7:3–8 is consistent in its attempt to discourage an unfounded belief in the inviolability of the Jerusalem temple and a presumption that Yahweh will not abandon it.25 At a more basic level, both Maier and Sharp share the presupposition that prophetic words of doom preclude the possibility of repentance, at least in the case of Jeremiah. While it is well beyond the bounds of this paper to address adequately the basic categories of salvation and doom in prophetic speech, it is still appropriate to question this assumption. A case in point is Jer 26:17–19, a text Sharp allocates to the pro-Judean platform.26 The story’s famous reference to Micah the Morashtite contrasts Hezekiah’s repentant response to a prophecy of doom with Jehoiakim’s extradition and execution of Uriah ben Shemaiah in 26:20–23 (cf. Mic 3:12). Setting aside for a moment any redactional problems, it is essential to understand that basic function of the text’s reference to Micah is not to validate prophetic words of doom as such; rather the text assumes that repentance is the proper response to harsh words of destruction. One must account for the complexities of the historical, rhetorical and theological function of prophetic words of doom before applying simple categories upon them.27 In my view it is not very convincing to distinguish between 24  For example, see Wilhelm Rudolph, Jeremia (3d ed.; HAT 12; Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr, 1968), 53. 25  Though it might be accounted for as a development in ancient Israelite prophecy unique to the ancient Near East, the unconditional announcement of doom still made an attempt to alter the course of history, i.e., change human behavior in the face of an unknowable and unpredictable future. It is overly simplistic to summarize this category of speech as a kind of “foregone conclusion.” See Reinhard G. Kratz, “Chemosh’s Wrath and Yahweh’s No: Ideas of Divine Wrath in Moab and Israel,” in Divine Wrath and Divine Mercy in the World of Antiquity (ed. Hermann Spieckermann and Reinhard G. Kratz; FAT 33; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2008), 111–21. 26  Sharp, Prophecy and Ideology in Jeremiah, 60. 27  Barstad, “What Prophets Do: Reflections on Past Reality in the Book of Jeremiah,” in Prophecy in the Book of Jeremiah (ed. Hans M. Barstad and Reinhard G. Kratz; BZAW 388; Berlin: de Gruyter, 2009), 25–26. On further complexities in the historical development of prophetic words of doom, see Kratz, “Chemosh’s Wrath and Yahweh’s No”; E. Blum,

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positions of “full” and “partial” doom in order to justify redactional models as in the case of 7:3–8. 4 Conclusion Maier is right in seeking to avoid the inherent dangers in too broadly classifying texts in Jeremiah as Deuteronomistic, though her proposal regarding Jer 7:3–8 is not without its difficulties. Is it possible to discuss the “nature” of Deutero-Jeremianic texts? As outlined above, I am not convinced by Maier’s argument. At least in the case of the temple sermon, it is not clear that one can sufficiently demonstrate the independence of Deutero-Jeremianic language or style. This brief response could not address many other points of Maier’s paper which merit comment and dialogue. Hopefully these comments will stir further discussion on the development of the book of Jeremiah.

“Israels Prophetie im altorientalischen Kontext: Anmerkungen zu neueren religionsgeschichtlichen Kontext,” in “From Ebla to Stellenbosch”: Syro-Palestinian Religions and the Hebrew Bible (ed. Izak Cornelius and Louis Jonker; ADPV 37; Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2008), 81–115.

chapter 11

Formulaic Language and the Formation of the Book of Jeremiah Hermann-Josef Stipp 1

The Problem

Formulaic language in the book of Jeremiah has always been a fascinating phenomenon for those interested in the literary history of the biblical books and in the development of biblical religion.1 For certain portions of the book bear a striking resemblance to the Deuteronomistic sections in the books Deuteronomy through Kings, the corpus that today most scholars trace to the former Deuteronomistic History. The passages concerned share a significant number of characteristic turns of phrase, a vocabulary that today is classified as the Deuteronomistic dic­tion, and they campaign for similar theological doctrines. To name but the most essential examples: the import­ance of obedi­ence to the Torah along with a special emphasis on the avoid­ance of foreign cults; the gift of the land concomitant with the danger of losing it in case of failure to comply with Yhwh’s demands; and covenant theology. Therefore, from the early days of exegesis, the clichéd parlance in Jeremiah has been considered a powerful clue to the origin of the book. The rabbinic sages and the Church Fathers regarded Jeremiah as the author of the books of Kings. With the advent of modern critical approaches, scholars were bound to seek an explanation for the fact that the usage in question is quite unevenly distributed. In both literature bodies, it is heavily concentrated in prose speeches. In Jeremiah moreover, the formulaic pieces proclaim theological ideas rarely found in the poetry of the book, and they bespeak a familiarity with the Babylonian devastation of Judah from a post–587 perspective. As a result, the formulaic language has been construed as a redactional creation for the books from Deuteronomy through Kings. In 1943 Martin Noth based his extremely successful theory of the Deuteronomistic History on this insight. For Jeremiah, 1  The current essay was largely composed during a research visit to the Department of Ancient Studies and the Faculty of Theology, Discipline Group of Old and New Testament, at Stellenbosch University (South Africa), in February and March 2014. I thank Juliane Eckstein and James Seth Adcock for their painstaking efforts to improve my English.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���7 | doi ��.��63/9789004320253_012

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Sigmund Mowinckel had already in 1914 advanced a source-critical model, positing that a document with Dtr prose speeches (his “source C”) had been merged into the book. But here, as in Kings, the redaction-critical approach finally prevailed. Ever since, the predominant assumption has been that the book was recast by Deuteronomistic redactors, a view which I also subscribe to in principle. The bulk of the formulaic units certainly never existed independently from the book, even though I do not absolutely rule out the possibility that some of the material did. Be that as it may, certain observations have led me to conclude that the use of set phrases for the reconstruction of the history of the book is in need of critical review. I would, therefore, like to address some methodological issues in my paper: How can we fine-tune the methods with which we analyze the formulaic language in the service of redactional criticism, and how will sound procedure affect the results? In doing so, I will summarize and update work I previously published in German,2 in order to facilitate discussion with Eng­lish-speaking colleagues. When it comes to the use of clichéd material in the redaction-critical study of Jeremiah, we currently encounter two basic approaches; one may be dubbed typically German, the other one typic­ally Anglo-Saxon. To my mind, both methods have their respective merits, yet both require significant amendments. The German variety was actually propounded for the first time by an Ameri­can. In his article titled “The Deuteronomic Edition of Jeremiah” from 1951, J. Philip Hyatt assembles a large number of passages that in his opinion had been inserted by Deuteronomistic redactors.3 His list comprises fullblown, self-contained literary units, like the prose speeches of Mowinckel’s “source C,”4 as well as numerous brief segments nested in non-formulaic contexts. The paper presents a literary analysis from which Hyatt’s commentary on Jeremiah in The Interpreter’s Bible from 1956 proceeded.5 Hyatt’s model elicited only limited response in the English-speaking world. But in 1973 and 1981, Winfried Thiel championed the approach most success2  See primarily my paper “Probleme des redaktionsgeschichtlichen Modells der Entstehung des Jeremiabu­ches,” in Jeremia und die “deuteronomistische Bewegung,” (ed. Walter Groß; BBB 98; Weinheim: Beltz Athenäum, 1995), 225–62; repr. in a thoroughly revised edition in my Studien zum Jeremiabuch: Text und Redaktion (FAT 96; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck 2015), 261–97. 3  J. Philip Hyatt, “The Deuteronomic Edition of Jeremiah,” in A Prophet to the Nations: Essays in Jeremiah Studies (ed. Leo G. Perdue and Brian W. Kovacs. Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisen­brauns, 1981), 247–67. 4  Sigmund Mowinckel, Zur Komposition des Buches Jeremia (Kristiania: Dybwad 1914) 5  J. Philip Hyatt, “Jeremiah,” in The Interpreter’s Bible (ed. George A. Buttrick; 12 vols.; New York: Abingdon-Cokesbury, 1951–57), 5:777–1142.

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fully among German-speaking exegetes.6 Although Thiel, unaware of Hyatt’s work at the time,7 conducted a far more meticulous inquiry, he arrived at very similar results, as can easily be seen from Siegfried Herr­mann’s synopsis of their conclusions.8 This seemingly fortunate agreement arose from an identical method: for identifying redactional accretions, both scholars relied almost exclusively on language. When the concordance pinpointed certain phrases as favorites of the Deutero­no­mists, they removed them from their contexts and attributed them to redactio­nal activ­ity. And conversely, whenever they found diction foreign to the standard Deuterono­mistic phrase book in major Deuteronomistic compositions, they ascribed those non-formulaic passages to the pro­phet himself, supposing that the Deute­ronomists had quoted him in their work. Those familiar with the different cultures in Anglo-Saxon and German biblical scholarship will not find it surprising that Hyatt’s and Thiel’s way of doing redaction criticism appealed much more to the taste of Continental scholars, among whom a longstanding penchant for microscopic source distinctions was peaking in the 1970s and 1980s. Still, we may take the impressive agreements between Hyatt and Thiel as testimony that the identification of stock phrases bearing Deuteronomistic coloring is a comparatively straightforward affair that causes only limited methodological problems. Therefore, we may leave this topic aside here. Almost simultaneously to Thiel, an alternative model was inaugurated by the British scholar Ernest Ni­cholson in his book Preaching to the Exiles.9 True to his background, Nicholson did not opt for clause-by-clause separations. Instead, he associated with the Deuterono­mists everything comprising elements of Dtr parlance and having a didactic tinge—and that is virtually the entire prose portions of the book. Further, to him the vital mechanism affording the book its present shape was not redaction but tradition. If I understand Nicholson correctly, this means that the book of Jeremiah as it stands today is still regarded as a redactional product; so it seems correct to subsume 6  Winfried Thiel, Die deuteronomistische Redaktion von Jeremia 1–25 (WMANT 41; NeukirchenVluyn: Neu­kirchener Verlag, 1973); idem, Die deuteronomistische Redaktion von Jeremia 26–45: Mit einer Ge­samtbeurteilung der deuterono­misti­schen Redaktion des Buches Jeremia (WMANT 52; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1981). 7  Thiel conducted his research in what was then East Germany. Due to the rigorous restrictions imposed on public religious activities and theological studies under communist rule, he only gained access to Hyatt’s work after having largely completed his own investigation. 8  Siegfried Herrmann, Jeremia. Der Prophet und das Buch (EdF 271. Darmstadt: WBG, 1990), 80–81. 9  Ernest W. Nicholson, Preaching to the Exiles: A Study of the Prose Tradition in the Book of Jeremiah (Oxford: Blackwell, 1970).

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Nicholson’s theory under the category of redaction criticism. Yet within the prose, Nicholson found it pointless to look for well-defined seams separating different literary layers. Accordingly, he labeled nearly all of the Jeremianic prose as Deuteronomistic. In view of the traditional distrust of complicated reconstructions in Anglo-Saxon exegetical quarters, it comes as no surprise that Nicholson’s method was received much more positively there than among our German-speaking colleagues. For instance, the influence of his theory on Robert Carroll’s commentary is plain to see.10 In sum, our comparison yields the following outcome: The two models share the conviction that formulaic usage ranks among the paramount pointers to the literary history of the book. They disagree, however, mainly in their treatment of prose passages containing only a minor amount of indicative terminology: where Hyatt and Thiel spotted expansions by a later editor, Nicholson attributed the entire unit to Deuteronomistic tradents. I would like to illustrate the diverging results of the two approaches with a few examples and evaluate them from a methodological point of view. 2 Examples 2.1 Jer 42:10–18 My first example is taken from the largest coherent narrative in the book, Jer *37:3–43:7b. This report was traditionally thought to be penned by Baruch for a collec­tion of biographical accounts. The first half, chs. *37–39, unfolds against the backdrop of the Babylo­nian siege of Jeru­sa­lem. It documents violent hostili­ties that Je­re­miah had to endure at the hands of certain powerful sections of the Judean society during that period. The second half relates Geda­liah’s assassination and its consequences. The remainees, that is to say, the Judeans who were not deported to Mesopo­tamia, contemplate fleeing to Egypt. Before leaving their home country, they approach Jeremiah, asking for an oracle to tell them what yhwh wants them to do. Their request is accompanied by an effusive assertion of their readiness to obey any command their god might impose (42:1–6). Only after a ten days’ wait does Yhwh finally reveal his response (42:7). The ensuing divine message quoted in vv. 10–18 condemns the plan to emigrate to Egypt in the strongest terms. It takes but little familiarity with the book of Jeremiah, or with Deuteronomistic style in general, to realize that the terminology of the oracle is highly formulaic. There are several phrases occu­rring in Deuteronomistic 10  Robert P. Carroll, Jeremiah: A Commentary (OTL; London: SCM Press, 1986).

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pieces elsewhere in the Bible, or else­where in Jeremiah as part of passages generally deemed redactional. The most con­ spic­ uous ex­ am­ ples are the se­quence of “building up, pulling down, planting, and plucking up” (v. 10),11 the collo­ca­tion of “sword, famine, and pestilence” (vv. 17, 22),12 the “pouring out” of Yhwh’s “anger and wrath” (v. 18),13 and the string of expressions such as “object of execration and horror, of cursing and ridicule” (v. 18; labeled Katastrophenformel in German).14 How is one to explain these commonalities with redactional portions? Following Thiel, the ter­mino­logy indicates the predominantly Deuteronomistic origin of the oracle. He regards this prophecy as a typical addition by Dtr redactors, apart from a few words forming the orig­inal stock of the oracle to be found in v. 17. In the origi­nal pre-Dtr narrative, the pro­phet­ic word to the refugees read only: “All the people who have determined to go to Egypt to settle there shall die; they shall have no remnant or survivor.” The Deute­ro­nomistic redactors took this terse announcement, com­prising just about 17 words in Hebrew, and blew it up to more than fifteen times its original length. Things look different with Nicholson, who sees no reason to dislodge the bulk of the prophe­tic speech from its context because he argues that if a narrative contains formulaic sections, then the entire account must be Deutero­nomis­ tic. So he takes Jer 37–43 as one of the didactic stories that the Deutero­nomists employed in their preaching ministry in order to uplift and refocus the spirits of the exiles. Let us reflect on the relative merits of the theories. Thiel has provided us with a brilliant examination of the clichéd terminology in the passage. Even so, his conclusions are less than convincing. The oracle in ch. 42 is embed­ ded in an elaborate and lengthy framework, accent­ing Jere­miah’s speech as the conceptual climax of the story. In fact, the preceding vv. 1–8 form the most extended prelude to a prophetic utterance in the entire Hebrew Bible. And when the narrator in 43:1 looks back on Jeremiah’s oracle, he calls it “all the words of Yhwh . . . all these words.” Furthermore, the whole second half of the narrative in Jer 40:7–43:7b revolves around the question of the future fate of the “rem­nant” of Judah, a term applied to the non-deportees no less than five 11   1:10; 12:14–17; 18:7, 9; 24:6; 31:28, 40; 45:4; cf. Ezek 36:36; Amos 9:14–15. See my Deuterojeremianische Konkordanz (ATSAT 63; St. Ottilien: Eos, 1998), 96–97. 12  The host of cases extant is assembled in my Konkordanz (see n. 11), 49–50. 13  7:20; 44:6. For the word pair “anger and wrath” see 10:24–25; 21:5; 32:31, 37; 33:5; 36:7, and many other cases from the rest of the OT. 14  Cf. especially 18:16; 19:8; 24:9; 25:9, 11; 29:18; 44:6, 8, 12, 22; 49:13; 51:37. For full documentation, see my Konkordanz (n. 11), 158–59.

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times and serving as a Leitwort (guide word).15 It is here, in this pivo­tal pro­ phetic proclama­tion, that the remainees learn what Yhwh thinks of their plan to desert their home country. The dire need for such a fervent denunciation is sadly confirmed when the remainees subsequently, without a single exception, head off to Egypt (43:4–7), leaving Judah totally devoid of her rightful inhabitants and leading the “remnant of Judah” towards its destruction.16 As a result, the narrative culminates in a disaster of a scale that even exceeds all other calamities in the wake of the Babylonian victory. Thus the author gathered several literary devices to accord this speech a key role in shaping the conceptual outlook of the narrative. For these reasons, it seems hard to believe that Jeremiah’s address to the refugees was ever as brief as Thiel alleged. True, in vv. 19–22 the oracle continues with a sort of appendix that is set apart by a new introductory formula (19a), and it illogically anticipates the rebuff given to the prophet by his audience in 43:1–3. This passage is a good candidate for a redactional intrusion, which however lacks characteristics typical of Deuteronomistic writings. Besides that, though, the speech nowhere con­tradicts its context; and what is more, it includes motifs and vocabulary characteristic for the nesting narrative.17 We could allow for a limited degree of later retouching even within vv. 10–18.18 Still, the findings appear to permit merely one conclusion: Jere­mi­ah’s pro­phecy in the original story largely conformed to what we read today in vv. 10–18. More radical incision not only suffers from a lack of evidence but also runs into a wall of objections. Above all, it deprives the narrative of its theological centerpiece. And finally, it should be kept in mind that it is not assumptions of unity but of compositeness that carry the burden of proof.19 15  40:11, 15; 41:16; 42:2; 43:5. On 42:19, see above. Another instance was added by a pre-Masoretic reviser (41:10). Cf. also the expression “all the people from the least to the greatest” 42:1, 8. 16  See my “The Concept of the Empty Land in Jeremiah 37–43,” in The Concept of Exile in Ancient Israel and Its Historical Contexts (ed. Ehud Ben Zvi and Christoph Levin; BZAW 404; Berlin: de Gruyter 2010), 103–54. 17  Cf. the warning of the fear of the Babylonians in v. 11 with 40:9 and 41:18. The rare verb ‫דאג‬ v. 16 is reminiscent of 38:19. 18  For more detailed scrutiny of the passage, see my Jeremia im Parteienstreit: Studien zur Textentwicklung von Jer 26, 36–43 und 45 als Beitrag zur Geschichte Jeremias, seines Buches und judäischer Parteien im 6. Jahrhundert (BBB 82; Frankfurt am Main: Hain, 1992), 188– 95. There I contemplated the possibility that vv. 10 and 17–18 might also be added later, but this is less certain. 19  For an example showing that Thiel’s analysis of Jer 42 finds followers still today, see Werner H. Schmidt, Das Buch Jeremia: Kapitel 21–52 (ATD 21; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2013), 254–56.

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Does Nicholson’s alternative approach fare better? To be sure, it does not assert later reworking where it appears far-fetched to do so; thus his model leaves the prophetic speech where it belongs. Nonetheless, what about the putative Deute­ro­nomistic nature of the story? Matters of terminology aside, most scholars, including the present writer, find themselves unable to detect any distinctive traits of Deuteronomistic theology—neither in the oracle in 42:10–18 nor in the remainder of the narrative. The Torah is never even mentioned, nor do we encounter a single in­junc­tion to avoid the worship of foreign gods; there is no reference to a long-lasting history of apostasy or persistent prophetic warnings. After all, if the author was an adherent of Deuteronomistic theology and wished to state his mind, there was no lack of opportunities to do so. Several times King Zedekiah and the Judeans seek Jeremiah’s prophetic guidance on how to handle the crisis they find themselves caught in. But whenever Jere­miah points out a way of deliverance, he makes demands that are totally unrelated to the stipulations of Deuteronomic law. While the Babylonian siege is in progress, Jeremiah advises Zedekiah that Yhwh wants from him just one simple act: surrender to the Babylonians (38:17–18, 20–23; cf. v. 2)! There is nothing Deutero­nomistic about this. Later we learn that after Geda­li­ah’s murder the Judeans who still live in the country are gripped by fear of Babylonian reprisals (41:18). When approaching Jeremiah to hear what Yhwh wishes them to do in their distress, they obtain the reply recorded in ch. 42. Interestingly enough, as we saw above, the extended prophecy is brimming with clichéd turns of phrase; but once we consider its content, we detect nothing specifically Deuteronomistic. Yhwh requests obedience—“listen to the voice of Yhwh,” as the Hebrew phrase goes—yet his demands boil down to one single thing, namely, staying in their home country. There is no reference to complying with any religious obligation whatsoever. In fact, in an important respect, the oracle even adopts a stance running counter to a Deuteronomistic tenet. In their reflections on the disaster of 587, Deuteronomistic writers repeatedly claim that Yhwh drove the Israelites and the Judeans from their home country because of their guilt.20 Jeremiah 42 turns this view on its head: the Judeans become guilty because they leave their home country. Similar observations pertain to the embedding narrative of *37:3–43:7b in general: the storyline evolves around the destruc­tion of Jerusalem and the begin­ning of the exile. Even so, we discover no effort at all to explain these disasters from

20  Passages reflecting a Deuteronomistic background include Jer 8:3; 9:15; and Deut 30:1. Further, cf. 16:15; 23:3, 8; 24:9; 29:14, 18; 30:11 || 46:28; 32:37. For full documentation, see my Konkordanz (n. 11), 88–89.

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a theological point of view.21 This is a conspicuous difference to Deutero­no­ mistic tracts, which routinely place the justification of Judah’s defeat right at the top of their agenda. The non-Deuteronomistic perspective of the oracle in ch. 42 be­comes particularly obvious when compared to its parallel in ch. 44, where we encounter something of a duplicate of the prophecy in Jer 42. After the Judean refugees arrive at their destination, Jeremiah delivers them a message similar in meaning and wording to what he already said in ch. 42, denouncing the escape to Egypt all over again. Now, however, he supplies a specific religious reason for Yhwh’s fierce opposition to their emig­ration. According to 44:7–8, the Judeans will succumb to idolatry in Egypt, which in turn will prompt their extermination. The whole remainder of the chap­ter is a passionate indictment of illicit cults, followed by more announcements of doom. This is Deu­teronomism in full swing. However, the situation in ch. 44 is fundamentally different from what we find in ch. 42. Although Jeremiah in ch. 42 likewise proclaims that God strictly disapproves of the flight, all he offers by way of motivation is the assertion that Yhwh does not want his people to depart. The refugees are merely warned that they will meet their death in Egypt (42:15–18), but we read nothing of foreign gods or the like. Thus, the phrasing of the prophecy in ch. 42 does indeed come close to Dtr speeches. Yet the notional make-up supplies no warrant at all to assign the oracle to a Dtr pen. It lacks any idea typical of Dtr theo­logy, as does the embedding narrative. The absence of distinctive Dtr traits also helps to explain why the passage sits side by side with ch. 44, which carries an undisputable Dtr imprint. It seems that the theological messages found in his source were not specific enough for the Dtr editor of our story. So he appended another con­ fronta­tion between Jeremiah and the Judeans, this time located in Egypt. Here the prophet acts as the redactor’s mouthpiece, stressing the points that mattered to the Deuterono­mists. In their eyes, Egypt was above all a trap where the emigrants fell prey to the most horrible abomination: the worship of foreign gods. This is why we now have two denunciations of the flight to Egypt almost next to each other: a pre-Dtr account in Jer *42:10–18, and a Dtr counterpart in ch. 44. Accordingly, the prophecy in ch. 42 is firmly anchored in its context and cannot be removed, whereas Jer 44 forms a separate, well-rounded appendix that can easily be severed from the preceding narrative without leaving a gap.

21  For Jer 40:1–6, see my Jeremia, der Tempel und die Aristokratie: Die patrizische (schafanidische) Redaktion des Jere­mia­buches (Kleine Arbeiten zum Alten und Neuen Testament 1; Waltrop: Spenner 2000).

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In fact, by the very addition of ch. 44, the Deuteronomists bore witness to the fact that Jeremiah’s prior address to the refugees was not their own work. So we can summarize the results from the study of our first case in point as follows: With Nicholson, we insist that *42:10–18 forms an integral part of the embedding narrative, albeit probably with the exception of some limited retouching that need not detain us here.22 On the other hand, the current mainstream of Jeremiah research is correct in affirming that the nesting source carried a definitely non-Deuter­onomistic stamp. Hence, as formu­laic as vv. 10–18 may be, it indicates neither a secondary insertion nor a Dtr background, let alone both. Formulaic language does not prove the secondary nature of most of Jeremiah’s prophetic speech in ch. 42. On the contrary, the untenable consequences strongly undermine this kind of logic. Our first example clearly demonstrates that word usage alone is not a sufficient basis for diachronic conclusions. I’ve discussed this example at some length in order to highlight a point that seems crucial when phraseology is used for recovering the literary history of the book of Jere­ miah. Clichéd language in Jeremiah resembles Deuteronomistic style. All the same, we must allow for literary creations that sound Deuteronomistic without being Deuteronomistic. As further examples will confirm, the diction under scrutiny was adopted by a variety of authors coming from a wide range of ideological milieus over a sizeable stretch of time. Some of them were Deuteronomists while others were not. The longevity of the stock phrases under debate was helped by the fact that they were easy to learn and to imitate. But as far as I see, the vocabulary was not employed by Jeremiah himself, possibly apart from rare exceptions that prove the rule. Such observations have led me to prefer the adjective “Deutero-Jeremianic” as an umbrella term for the relevant parlance. This makes room for an array of conceptual outlooks which includes, but is wider than, Deuteronomism. Another aspect needs to be emphasized. When we look at the narrative at the root of what today is Jer 37–43, it may be found odd that DeuteroJeremianic usage should have been restricted to the prophecy in *42:10–18. This is not entirely true, as vocabulary of the same type reoccurs in 43:4, 7b (“not listen to the voice of Yhwh”). Yet this situation accords well with the nature of the relevant terminology. When examining passages bearing a distinctive Deuteronomistic (or Deutero-Jeremianic) stamp, one will easily note that they all in some way inculcate certain religious doctrines, in other words, they have a parenetic quality. For “Deuteronomese” is not an all-purpose language, but a specialized idiom designed for devising parenetic texts. This entails three strict 22  See above, note 18.

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limitations on where and when this parlance is likely to occur. First, since parenesis is by definition exhortative speech, the natural home of Deuteronomistic style is discourse, not narration. Second, Deuteronomistic turns of phrase will normally not be used by just any character, but they will cluster in speeches of those individuals that are the natural agents of parenesis in the Bible, that is to say, mostly Yhwh himself or his spokespeople like Moses, the prophets, and prophetesses. Narrators, too, may adopt the typical diction when they venture an authorial comment. Third, characters prone to speaking Deuteronomese will not do so under just any circumstances, but only when they deal with topics falling within the grasp of this jargon. In other words, the parenetic nature of Deuteronomistic usage places a vital restraint on when and by whom it may be employed. It can, therefore, only be expected in parenetic sections within speeches of suitable individuals. That the stereotyped vocabulary should be limited to particular sections does not create contradictions or tensions to contexts from which it is absent, as long as this omission can be ascribed to the fact that the said preconditions fail to be met. What holds true for the Deuteronomistic idiom, likewise applies to the related Deutero-Jeremi­anic terminology. The foregoing statements can quite easily be verified by perusing those passages that Hyatt and Thiel attributed to the Dtr redaction.23 Nearly the entirety of this substantial corpus falls within divine or prophetic speeches (including their introductory formulas). Apart from ch. 52, copied from 2 Kgs 24–25, the exceptions to that rule do not add up to more than a few sentences. In Jer 26:19 “some of the elders of the land” (v. 17) use Deuteronomistic diction,24 and in Jer 40:2–3 the writer has turned the Babylonian officer Nebuzaradan into a theologian trailing the footsteps of the Deuteronomists. Germane authorial commentaries appear in 37:2 and 43:4, 7b, where the voice of the narrator levels accusations of not listening to Yhwh’s words or voice (cf. also 26:8, see below 2.4). From these considerations we can deduce crucial methodological rules. With formulaic language alone, we can identify neither a redactional insertion nor a Deuteronomistic background. In order to isolate a secondary supplement, we must resort to the familiar indicators from the toolbox of compositional criticism: doublets, tensions, and contradictions. For ascertaining a Deuteronomistic milieu of origin, it is imperative to point out emblematic ideological concepts. Neither of these two criteria are met in Jer *42:10–18. The following examples will single out more methodological pitfalls one may run into when having recourse to formulaic language in diachronic investigation. 23  See above n. 8. 24  For the presumed source analysis, see below 2.4.

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2.2 Jer 29:16–20 Our second investigation is taken from the account of Jere­miah’s letter to the exiles in ch. 29. Verses 15–23, forming the immediate context of our passage, look a bit confused. In v. 15, Jeremiah quotes his addres­sees who claimed Yhwh to have called prophets from among the deportees in Baby­lon. Next, Jeremiah seems to lose sight of this subject for a while. In vv. 16–20 he delivers an oracle of doom a propos the remainees who stayed behind in Judah under King Zedekiah. It is not until v. 21 that the letter returns to the topic of prophets in Babylonia, predicting a ghastly death for two prominent figures from their ranks. We have two prophecies here. The first one, concerning false prophets among the deportees, covers vv. 15 and 21–23. This oracle is split up, with a second an­nouncement on the remainees sandwiched in be­tween (vv. 16–20). The major part of the intrusive message (vv. 16–18) offers a close parallel to Jer 24:8–10, which comes from the highly formulaic divine speech 24:5–10. Coincidentally, it replicates phrases familiar from our previous example 42:10– 18—the triad of “sword, famine and pestilence,” and the threat to “make them a horror to all the king­doms of the earth, to be an object of cursing, and horror, and hissing, and a derision” (29:17–18). In fact, as a brief glance bears out, the whole intervening prophecy consists of Deutero-Jeremianic turns of phrase. Thiel and Nicholson treat the passage in a fashion analogous to how they deal with ch. 42. For Thiel, vv. 16–20 form a typical Deuteronomistic insertion like those found all over chs. 1–45. Nicholson, once again, re­gards the entire chapter as a Deuterono­mistic composition that may contain older material, which, however, defies exact delimitation. In this instance, Thiel seems to have a compelling case. The second, highly formulaic prophecy clumsily interrupts the first one, providing a very good reason to assume an intru­sion. Are we looking over the shoulder of the Dtr redactor here? Unfortu­nately, there is a snag: verses 16–20 are lacking in the Septuagint. Was the intrusive oracle missing from the Hebrew Vorlage, possibly because it was added at a very late stage? Many scholars reject such conclusions. Some grant that the passage was absent from the translator’s Vorlage, but only because it had dropped from the text due to parablepsis (‫ בבלה‬v. 15 → ‫בבלה‬ v. 20).25 Others contend that the prophecy on the remainees had been left out by the translator (or perhaps by some finicky copyist still in the Hebrew phase of the Alexandrian text tradition [AlT]), who perceived the disruption of the textual flow and felt that a repetition of 24:8–10 was unnecessary, the more

25  Thus, e.g., Jack R. Lundbom, Jeremiah 21–36: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 21B; New York: Doubleday, 2004), 345. Much less probable is the theory that the passage went missing from the Greek tradition (Βαβυλωνι v. 15 → Βαβυλωνα v. 20*).

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so within a letter to the exiles.26 Interestingly, when the passage was supplemented in the so-called Lucianic recension of the LXX, it was appended to v. 14 rather than to v. 15, showing that the logical confusion was acutely sensed already in antiquity.27 Thus in theory, the intervening oracle could well stem from a Deuteronomistic redactor. An accidental or even deliberate erasure could later have resulted in its deletion from the Alexandrian strand of textual tradition. There is, nevertheless, evidence indicating that 29:16–20 is definitely a late intrusion into the Masoretic text type. The piece contains expressions from what I term the pre-Masoretic idiolect, a set of linguistic phenomena (words, phrases, and grammatical constructions) that occur at least twice in the Masoretic book of Jeremiah but nowhere in the shorter Alexandrian version, and to a large part nowhere else in the entire Hebrew Bible. Hence, they typify the individual styles of the scribes who expanded the common ancestor of both text forms into MT. To my mind, this terminology presents rocksolid proof that the bulk of the copious Masoretic pluses over the Alexandrian version does indeed derive from late revision. In 29:16–20, the following items belong to the pre-Masoretic idiolect: the noun ‫“ אלה‬curse”28 and the idea of dispersion among “all the nations”29 in v. 18, as well as the juxtaposition of ‫“ ירוׁשלם‬Jerusalem” and ‫“ בבל‬Babylon” in v. 20.30 From this data we may safely infer that the intrusive oracle was not dropped from the text, be it by a copyist, or by the ancient Greek translator. On the contrary, it was inserted into the Masoretic textual tradition at a late stage. So we may conclude that vv. 16–20 are undoubtedly a secondary supplement. Yet they were added at a time much later than the sixth century, i.e., the exilic era and its aftermath, when the Deutero­nomis­tic redactors reshaped the book of Jeremiah. Otherwise we would still have to reckon with Deuteronomistic activities after the Masoretic and the Alexandrian text traditions split, possibly as late as in the fourth or even in the third century bce (the precise date of 26   Thus, e.g., Andreas Vonach, “Jeremias,” in Septuaginta Deutsch: Erläuterungen und Kommentare zum griechischen Alten Testament. Vol. II: Psalmen bis Daniel (ed. Martin Karrer and Wolfgang Kraus; Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft, 2011), 2696–2814, here 2796. 27  This sequence is actually taken as original by some modern scholars, e.g., J. Gerald Janzen, Studies in the text of Jeremiah (HSM 6; Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1973), 118; William L. Holladay, Jeremiah 2: A Commentary on the Book of Jeremiah Chapters 26–52 (Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress 1989), 135. 28  See also 23:10; 42:18; 44:12. 29  See further 29:14; 30:11; 43:5; 46:28. 30  See further 27:18, 20; 29:1, 4.

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the bifurcation is difficult to determine). Put differently, should we count the Maso­retic pluses among the products of the Deuteronomistic school? In my opinion, we would be ill-advised to do so. As I attempted to show elsewhere, the Masoretic Sondergut (a catch-all term covering all sorts of variants) comprises a significant amount of Deutero-Jeremianic usage, but no longer promotes theological ideas distinctive of Deuterono­mism.31 Jeremiah 29:16–20 is a pertinent example. Verses 16–18 pre­dict, in line with their model in ch. 24, that Yhwh will disperse the non-deportees “among all the nations,” bringing about their obliteration. Verse 19, moving beyond ch. 24, seems to champion notions typical for the Deuteronomists in Jeremiah. It conveys accusations of not listening to Yhwh’s words, although he had incessantly sent his servants, the prophets. But the blame is still solely laid at the feet of the remainees, while the deportees remain exempt, without a hint to a reason for this differentiation. This is a glaring contradiction to the Deuteronomistic layer in Jeremiah, which decries an unrelenting history of disobedience from the exodus right down to the prophet’s own days,32 an indictment incompatible with contrasting attitudes towards the exiles, on the one hand, and the remainees, on the other. The Masoretic plus in 29:16–20 thus employs Deutero-Jere­mian­ic language for a message that well-nigh flies into the face of Deuteronomis­tic theology. So we come across clichéd diction that, in keeping with current theory, characterizes a secondary accretion to the book. This text, however, is absent from the Alexandrian version and contains items from the pre-Masoretic idiolect, pointing to a very late date of origin. Its conceptual thrust, moreover, flatly contradicts Deuteronomistic thinking. Hence the writer cannot have been a Deuteronomist, just like the author of the greater part of *42:10–18. But whereas the latter passage betrays the hand of a pre-Deuteronomistic narrator, the present case must indeed be attributed to a revision, but to one of the latest to enter the Masoretic book of Jeremiah. Accordingly, we must conclude that the Deutero-Jeremi­anic vocabulary was kept in use over several centuries and by authors from widely divergent ideological settings. As noted, the language and theology of 29:16–20 echo its model, ch. 24. This takes us to our third example.

31  See my Das masoretische und alexandrinische Sondergut des Jeremiabuches: Text­ geschichtlicher Rang, Ei­gen­arten, Triebkräfte (OBO 136. Freiburg Schweiz: Univer­sitäts­ver­ lag and Göt­tin­gen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht 1994), 92–144, esp. the summary 137–44. 32  See 7:25–26; 9:3; 11:9–10; 16:11–12; 32:30–31; 44:9–10, 17, 21; cf. 34:13–16. In post-Dtr layers: 3:25; MT 11:7–8e.

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2.3 Jer 24 Jeremiah’s vision of the two fig baskets culminates in a divine speech consisting almost entirely of set phrases (vv. 4–10). It may suffice to list the most conspicuous instances: the formula of building up and tearing down (v. 6),33 the formula of knowing Yhwh (v. 6),34 the covenant formula (v. 7),35 the disaster formula (v. 9),36 the idea that Yhwh “disperses” (‫נדח‬, ‫ )פוץ‬his people (v. 9),37 and the triad of “sword, famine, and pestilence” (v. 10).38 On this basis, both Hyatt and Thiel as well as Nicholson attributed the chapter to a Deuteronomistic editor.39 In Hyatt’s and Thiel’s case, this was a prudent step beyond their usual approach because they took not only the divine address but the entire unit as redactional, including the preparatory vision report in vv. 1–3, though it lacks any indicative vocabulary. This move gave proper weight to the fact that, as noted above, the applicability of the typical clichéd idiom is limited to parenetic sections, which in Jeremiah are extremely rare outside divine or prophetic discourse. Chapter 24 offers another illustration of this: conforming to what we observed in Jer *37:3–43:7b, the formulaic usage crops up exactly where it might be expected, namely, in an oracle with a suitable topic. So it would be unfounded to separate the vision report from the divine speech, all the more so since the former can under no circumstances do without the latter, as the interpretive comment is a compulsory building-block of a symbolic vision. So in view of their treatment of Jer 24, Hyatt and Thiel are to be commended for conceding that Deuteronomistic redactors were capable of composing non-formulaic prose, as Nicholson took for granted all along. But still, their theory is in need of refinement. For despite the massive accumulation of typical turns of phrase, Jer 24 is not Deuteronomistic. The chapter, being the source of 29:16–20, offers evidence similar to what we noticed in our last example: Yhwh announces salvation for the deportees with Jehoiachin and doom for 33  See above, n. 11. 34  Besides 9:23, other biblical books contain numerous instances; see my Konkordanz (n. 11), 54–55. 35  7:23; 11:4; 13:11; 30:22 MT; 31:1, 33; 32:38; and many more cases in other books; see my Konkordanz, 18–19. 36  The larger instances from Jer: 18:16; 19:8; 25:9, 11 MT, 18; 29:18 MT; 42:18; 44:6, 8, 12, 22; 49:13; 51:37 MT. For a complete listing, including other books, see my Konkordanz, 158–59. 37  8:3; 9:15; 16:15; 23:3, 8; 29:14 MT, 18 MT; 30:11 MT; 32:37; 40:12 MT; 43:5 MT; 46:28. For the examples from other books, see my Konkordanz, 88–89. 38  See n. 12. For the gift of the land to the fathers (v. 10 MT) see my Konkordanz, 9–10. 39  Hyatt, “The Deuteronomic Edition of Jeremiah” (n. 3), 258; Thiel, Die deuteronomistische Redaktion von Jeremia 1–25 (n. 6), 253–61; Nicholson, Preaching to the Exiles (n. 9), 110.

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those remaining in the land along with Zedekiah, in each case without supplying any motivation,40 let alone the kind consistent with Deuteronomistic theologizing. Life and death depend on neither virtue nor vice, but on belonging to a particular group. Needless to say, becoming a deportee or a remainee was beyond the choice of those affected. Jer 24 therefore cannot stem from a Deuteronomistic pen either. It represents a much later period, when the desire had arisen to define all Judeans as descendants of the Babylonian golah.41 Thus the chapter backs up two earlier insights on Deutero-Jeremianic language: first, the mere juxtaposition of formulaic and non-formulaic parlance does not justify the conclusion that a text is composite. Second, writers from widely divergent backgrounds employed the diction under debate, with some of them representing clearly non-Deutero­nomis­tic points of view. 2.4 Jer 26 Our last case in point involves a narrative that was traditionally assigned to Baruch, just as chs. *37–43. Hyatt and Thiel discerned clichéd phraseology in (approximately) vv. 3–5 and 13, attributing them to a Deuteronomistic redactor, whereas Nicholson, as usual, found in Jer 26 a unified didactic narrative from Deuteronomistic hands. In the meantime, further research has identified more formulaic material. In v. 2 we find “standing in the courtyard, resp. the gate of the house of Yhwh,”42 a peculiar way of utilizing the participle ‫ ַה ָּב ִאים‬,43 the command “do not trim a word,”44 and speaking “everything that Yhwh commands.”45 The latter idiom re­occurs in v. 8. In vv. 9 and 20 we encounter the phrase “prophesying in the name of Yhwh,”46 and in v. 16 “speaking in the

40  Opinions are divided as to whether 7e ‫ל־ל ָּבם‬ ִ ‫ ִּכי־יָ ֻׁשבּו ֵא ַלי ְּב ָכ‬forms a causal or a conditional clause. As I attempted to substantiate elsewhere, ‫ ִּכי‬here performs its usual causal function, so that the “return” of the exiles to Yhwh is an ingredient rather than a condition of the divine promise. See my “Jeremia 24: Ge­schichts­bild und historischer Ort”, JNWSL 25 (1999) 151–83, 160–65, revised reprint in my Studien zum Jere­mia­buch (n. 2), 349–78, 358–63. 41  For a detailed validation of this view, see the paper quoted in n. 40. 42  Cf. Jer 7:2 MT; 19:14. 43  Cf. Jer 7:2 MT; 17:20; 19:3 AlT; 22:2; 27:3; 28:4 MT; 36:3, 9 MT; 44:14, 28. For details and references from other biblical books see my Konkordanz, 24. 44  Cf. Deut 4:2; 13:1. 45  Cf. Jer 1:7, 17; 7:23; 11:4, 8 MT; 32:23; 50:21. For details and references from other biblical books see my Konkordanz, 115. 46  Cf. Jer 11:21; 14:14, 15; 23:25; 27:15; 29:9, 21 MT.

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name of Yhwh.”47 Verse 19 mentions Yhwh’s repentance.48 It uses the expression “speaking evil against,”49 in addition to “doing great evil against oneself.”50 Any reconstruction trying to eliminate the formulaic portions must depend purely on language because the passages concerned are seamlessly integrated into their contexts. Some of the set phrases disregarded by Hyatt and Thiel are even so tightly interwoven with their environments that they simply cannot be removed without harming the textual flow. Moreover, the chapter contains some of those rare cases where the relevant diction turns up outside of prophetic discourse. As mentioned before,51 in v. 19 “some of the elders of the land” employ Deuteronomistic vocabulary, and in v. 8 we find characteristic usage within narration. All the more, there is no justification whatsoever for extricating the formulaic sections from their contexts. Accordingly, Hyatt’s and Thiel’s model can be firmly ruled out, while this time it is Nicholson who seems to have hit the mark: apparently Jer 26 is a proper Deuteronomistic narrative. After all, its subject-matter is perfectly suited for voicing essential aspirations of the Deuteronomists: Jeremiah warns of the imminent destruction of temple and city, should the Judeans keep ignoring the incessant calls of the prophets to abide by Yhwh’s Torah; the audience reveals their stubbornness by demanding Jeremiah’s execution; and finally Uriah gets killed, a prophet who “prophesied . . . according to all the words of Jeremiah” (v. 20). By providing another illustration of the wickedness of the preexilic generations, the story helps to rationalize the disaster of 587 theologically, an issue that was very close to the hearts of the Deuteronomists. All this notwithstanding, a crucial difficulty must be considered. As even many Anglo-Saxon exegetes admit, the chapter is not a unity. In v. 16, Jeremiah is acquitted by “the patricians52 (‫ ) ַה ָּׂש ִרים‬and all the people.” Nonetheless, in vv. 17–19, “some of the elders of the land” launch another plea in his defense. For this reason it has become commonplace to have the original story end with the judgment in v. 16, and to consider vv. 17–24 an expansion. If this is correct, we find the clichéd diction spread out over different layers within the same 47  Cf. Jer 20:9; 29:23; 44:16; further Exod 5:23; Deut 18:19, 20, 22; 1 Kgs 22:16 (|| 2 Chr 18:15); Zech 13:3; Dan 9:6; 1 Chr 21:19; 2 Chr 33:18. 48  Cf. Jer 18:8; 26:3, 13; 42:10; further Exod 32:14; Jon 3:10. For less specific parallels see my Konkordanz, 90. 49  Cf. Jer 11:17; 16:10; 18:8 MT; 19:15; 26:13; 35:17; 36:31; 40:2; further Exod 32:14; 1 Kgs 22:23; Jon 3:10; Bar (Hebrew) 2:7. 50  Cf. Jer 44:7; similarly 42:20 AlT. 51  See above, 2.1. 52  For a justification of this rendering see my Tempel (n. 21), 7–12.

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composite literary unit. To be sure, there is indeed a literary fault line after v. 16. Verses 17–23, however, do not form an appendage; they instead resume the original story that commenced in vv. 1–9*, whereas the midsection in vv. 10–16 was inserted later. The following evidence speaks in favor of this thesis: 1. As stated, the appeal of the elders in vv. 17–19 comes unexpected after v. 16. 2. “All the people” switch sides at an astounding speed and for no apparent reason. In vv. 8–9, they join the priests and the prophets in arresting Jeremiah and pronouncing his death sentence. Yet after “the patricians of Judah” have arrived on the scene in v. 10, Jeremiah’s court case enters a new phase where suddenly we find “all the people” in a coalition with the patricians, opposing the priests and the prophets (v. 11). The patricians assume the role of judges in unison with “all the people”: they receive the pleas of the priests and the prophets, who act as suitors (v. 11), and of Jeremiah as the defendant (vv. 12–15). Subsequently they exonerate Jeremi­ah (v. 16), refuting the charge leveled against him in v. 11. This is a remarkable move since the charge closely resembled the accusation in v. 9, which “all the people” had taken as ample reason for demanding the death penalty (v. 8). The text offers no rationale for their abrupt about-face. Still, once the patricians entered the stage, “all the people” instantly ally with them and are ready to fully overturn their view on Jeremiah’s message. All the same, when later in v. 17 “some of the elders of the land” raise their voices in his favor, they direct their speech at “the entire assembly of the people,” who the moment before had protested Jeremi­ah’s innocence. Surprisingly, the elders do not pay heed to the patricians at all, though they should represent the most powerful section of the court. They also ignore the priests and the prophets, who after vv. 10–16 should be the natural addressees of their plea. In fact, the elders behave as if the people had reversed their loyalties back again, an impression explicitly validated by the concluding v. 24. 3. What is true for the people, applies to the patricians as well, although in a somewhat less conspicuous manner. In the Masoretic edition of the episode on the prophet Uriah, v. 21 reports that “King Jehoiakim, all his warriors, and all the patricians heard his words, and the king sought to put him to death.” The Alexandrian version, though, declares that “they sought to put him to death,” a phrasing which implicates the patricians in Uriah’s persecution. That happens only shortly after we were told that they had saved Jeremiah’s life. This variant, openly clashing with v. 16, is clearly the older one, whereas the Masoretic reading arose from an effort to harmonize v. 21 with the sympathetic portrayal of the patricians in vv. 10–16. Originally the patricians were depicted in diametrically opposing manners in vv. 10–16 on the one hand, and in v. 21* on the other.

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4. Jeremiah 26 twice quotes charges against Jeremiah (vv. 9 and 11), followed by two acquittals (vv. 16 and 17­–19). These repetitions alone foment doubt as to the literary unity of the chapter. But what is more, those related passages display a striking logical inconsistency. The first accusation in v. 9 blames Jeremiah for predicting the devastation of the temple and the city. The introduction 9a stresses that he did so “in the name of Yhwh,” a claim that visibly serves to bring about an aggravating circumstance. The second charge in v. 11 alludes to the first one in a general fashion: “he has prophesied on this city as you have heard with your own ears,” without bringing up the matter of speaking in the name of Yhwh again. In his reply, Jeremiah frames his defense through the twofold assertion of having delivered his scandalous message precisely because Yhwh had commissioned him to do so (vv. 12 and 15). He thus effectively confirms the point which in 9a had been cited for incriminating him: he had indeed spoken in the name of Yhwh. In v. 16 the patricians and all the people, for their part, counter the indictment by accentuating that “in the name of Yhwh our God he has spoken to us”; so they release the prophet on the strength of a fact that in v. 9 was considered an incrimination. In other words, both Jeremiah’s defense in vv. 12 and 15 and his acquittal in v. 16 ignore the wording of the charge in v. 9. On the other hand, these passages fit the accusation in v. 11 quite well. The second plea in Jeremiah’s favor in vv. 17–19 is voiced by the elders, who espouse a different tactic. They simply pass over the issue of speaking in Yhwh’s name. In its stead, they invoke a precedent, calling to mind the prophet Micah, who under King Hezekiah had proclaimed a message quite similar to Jeremiah’s. His contemporaries, though, had not put him to death. On the contrary, they were willing to “fear Yhwh” and to “soften his face,”53 thus averting the doom spelled out on them. This reasoning matches both charges—the one in v. 9 and the one in v. 11. But in particular, this line of argument imparts a perfect rebuttal to the first accusation in v. 9 by proving that oracles of the Jeremianic kind had been pronounced earlier by an eminently reputable prophet. And what is more, it shows that the Judeans could learn a lesson or two from the past when it comes to dealing with such threats. So Jer 26 mixes two differing conceptions of why Jeremiah was accused and acquitted: Following the first one, embodied by vv. 9 and 17–19, he was charged for announcing doom on the temple and the city in Yhwh’s name, and he was exonerated with recourse to a precedent evidencing that similar oracles had been proclaimed before by a prophet who had already acquired 53  Thus AlT; MT reserves these activities to King Hezekiah, reputed for his piousness.

Formulaic Language and the Formation of the Book

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authoritative status. According to the second notion, exemplified by vv. 11, 12, 15, and 16, Jeremiah was blamed for announcing doom on Jerusalem, and he was discharged on the basis that he had spoken in Yhwh’s name. Hence vv. 10–16 form a separate entity within ch. 26: they regard the patricians and “all the people” as the supporters of the true prophets rather than their enemies; they have their own ideas as to why Jeremiah was charged and released; and they forestall his acquittal by the elders of the land. Therefore, it is the middle part of the chapter that was added later and profoundly redirected the thrust of the story. The writer of the supplement turned the patricians and “all the people” into the allies of the authentic prophets. Furthermore, he expanded the set of characters by “the priests and the prophets,” who were given the role of Jeremiah’s foes. Consequently, v. 7 as well as the mention of the priests and the prophets in v. 8 must also be assigned to the reworking. What, then, about the Deuteronomistic nature of the chapter? Upon closer look, the arguments supporting Deuteronomistic authorship remain valid for the original narrative: Jere­miah warns the Jude­ans of the doom awaiting them, should they ignore Yhwh’s ultimate call for repentance (vv. 1–6); “all the people” state their intention to execute him (vv. 8*–9); “some of the elders of the land” save the prophet’s life through a plea in his favor (vv. 17–19). All the same, they prove unable to dispel the lasting threat of disaster (v. 19f), which is finally vindicated by Uriah’s murder (vv. 20–23).54 This plot, together with the characteristic usage in vv. 2–5, 8, and 19, seamlessly fits the Deuteronomistic agenda. The reworking, however, while still employing the same kind of parlance, moves in a new direction. It transforms the patricians and “all the people” into faithful devotees of Yhwh’s messengers, thus directly opposing the Deuteronomistic contributions to the book, which had given these groups a very bad name, as does the basic layer of the chapter.55 Here we come across a stratum that resembles Deuteronomism, but at the same time contradicts it in a vital respect, namely, by striving hard to improve the image of the patricians. Another major addition of the “patrician redaction” follows in Jer 35–37:2. As a result, the situation in Jer 26 invites comparison to what we encountered in the juxtaposition of *42:10–18 and ch. 44: Deutero-Jere­mia­nic usage cropped up there in both a pre-Deuteronomistic and a Deuteronomistic layer, while here it occurs in a Deuteronomistic and a post-Deuteronomistic level. In either case, the relevant diction is distributed over different literary strata with widely divergent intentions.

54  V. 24 poses problems that necessitate separate treatment; see my Tempel (n. 21), 43–45. 55  For the patricians, see further 1:18; 8:1–2; 32:32; 34:10–11, 19–21; 44:9, 17, 21.

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3 Conclusions We have looked at instances of formulaic language in Jeremiah with an eye for what this material might reveal about the history of the book. In general, it seems fairly easy to identify formulaic vocabulary in Jeremiah, given its close familial relationship with Deuteronomistic parlance. But over and above this, our examination yielded a significant range of insights. As the conceptual nature and certain additional indicators evince, the terminology under debate occurs in both Deuteronomistic (the basic stratum of 26; 44) and non-Dtr texts; the latter can be both pre-Dtr (*42:10–18) and post-Dtr (24; the expansions to 26). Sometimes the post-Dtr passages were created so much later than the heyday of the Deuteronomists in the 6th century that they failed to be included into the Alexandrian edition (29:16–20). From our observations the following methodological rules may be derived for using formulaic language when reconstructing the growth of the book of Jeremiah (and possibly others too): 1. Formulaic language in Jer is akin to, but not identical with, Deuteronomistic diction. It occurs in texts from a remarkable variety of backgrounds, some of them outright non-Deuteronomistic. If the adjective “Deuteronomistic” is to retain its distinctive force, it cannot be employed as an umbrella term for all texts using the relevant vocabulary. Rather, a set of criteria needs to be spelled out for discriminating proper Dtr texts from similar but different phenomena. The demarcation of Deuteronomism is ultimately a matter of definition and thus subject to negotiation and agreement among scholars. The same holds true for the related criteria. One should further allow for the boundaries between Dtr and non-Dtr texts to be blurred. As a catch-all term for the entirety of the phraseology at issue within the book of Jeremiah I suggest “DeuteroJeremia­nic,” from which “Deuteronomistic” forms a subcategory. The latter rubric still appears useful for classifying texts from the book, although admittedly the Jeremi­an brand of Deuteronomism differs to some extent from the sort typifying the Deuteronomistic History. Most importantly, the Jeremianic Deuteronomists failed to push for the centralization of the sacrificial cult. 2. The Deutero-Jeremianic usage is not all-purpose language but a specialized idiom designed for composing parenetic texts. This nature restricts its applicability to suitable pas­sages, which are mostly found within discourses of appropriate characters. Hence, the restriction of the significant parlance to certain portions affords no basis for positing different layers. For asserting compositeness, it is indispensable to point out additional indicators from the criteria of composition criticism, that is, doublets, tensions, and contradictions.

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Heeding these caveats will help us to draw a more adequate picture of the redactional history of the book of Jeremiah. As far as the book’s Deuteronomistic redaction in particular is concerned, this theory will not have to be abandoned, but it seems in need of major amendments as to, for instance, the amount of text to be assigned to the Deuteronomistic editors, our portrayal of their working techniques, and the description of their objectives.

chapter 12

Mysteries of the Book of Jeremiah: Its Text and Formulaic Language. A Response to Hermann-Josef Stipp Georg Fischer To read Jeremiah is to be constantly solving riddles. It is like putting together the pieces of an immensely large three-dimensional puzzle: one level is the book of Jeremiah itself, with its textual web from Jer 1:1 to 52:34, which resembles a surface stretching in two directions; the other level consists of its manifold links to other books, e.g. Deuteronomy, Amos, Hosea. This level forms something of a foundation and a framework at the same time.1 As a result, reading Jeremiah means being confronted with a huge number of questions. Some of them, despite the efforts of many scholars, have not been answered satisfactorily; in some sense, they remain mysteries. In this article I want to address two of these mysteries.2 The first issue (1) regards the text of Jeremiah, namely the character and quality of the Greek translation.3 The other problem is Jeremiah’s language; from among the wide range of perspectives, the frequent use of standardized expressions stands out and will be treated below (2). 1

The Greek Translation of Jeremiah

The relationship between the Hebrew and the Greek texts has become a hotly disputed issue, especially since the publication of Gerald Janzen’s thesis in 1  This aspect regards Jeremiah’s intertextual relationships, esp. those scrolls on which Jeremiah is dependent; for some indications see my other article in this volume. 2  This was originally a response to the paper of Hermann-Josef Stipp on “Formulaic Language and the Production of Jeremiah,” which corresponds to part 2 here. 3  The initial plan of Hindy Najman and Konrad Schmid, the organizers of the conference, was for his paper to address “Jer G*: The Earliest Known Translation of the Book of Jeremiah,” in order to offer a solid foundation for dealing with the text of Jeremiah. As this important topic did not end up being the focus of Stipp’s remarks but is nevertheless indispensable for a responsible approach to Jeremiah, I cover this subject at least briefly.

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1973.4 He interpreted three Jeremiah manuscripts from Qumran as support for the LXX of Jeremiah. This led to an about face in the opinion of influential scholars such as Emanuel Tov, Adrian Schenker, Pierre-Maurice Bogaert, Hermann-Josef Stipp,5 and many others. The majority position now gives preference to the much shorter LXX of Jeremiah over the Hebrew text of Jeremiah found in the version of MT. Meanwhile, important translations in modern languages have appeared,6 and many scholars have addressed this matter further. As a result, quite a number of problems have arisen with what has become opinio communis. These further studies indicate that accepting the priority of the LXX of Jeremiah overlooks significant data pointing in the other direction, viz. arguments speaking for the MT of Jeremiah as being closer to the original version of Jeremiah than the LXX version. I will first present three examples from Jer 1 showing typical differences between the LXX and the MT of Jeremiah (1.1), then deal more systematically with the problems (1.2), and finally reflect on the analysis (1.3). 1.1 Typical Differences Between the LXX and the MT of Jeremiah As Hermann-Josef Stipp concentrated on “formulaic language,” I pick out examples broadly pertaining to this field which are found in the very first chapter. They show that, right at the beginning of Jeremiah, the two versions differ significantly. Although the variations often seem to be at the level of details, they reveal different orientations, and sometimes even ideologies behind both text types.

4  J. Gerald Janzen, Studies in the Text of Jeremiah (HSM 6; Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1973). 5  An example of the dispute is offered by Hermann-Josef Stipp in “Zur aktuellen Diskussion um das Verhältnis der Textformen des Jeremiabuches,” in Die Septuaginta—Texte, Kontexte, Lebenswelten (ed. Martin Karrer and Wolfgang Kraus, in collaboration with Martin Meiser; WUNT 219; Tübingen: Mohr, 2008), 630–53. He is reacting to my position, presented in the same volume: “Die Diskussion um den Jeremiatext” (612–29). 6  For the LXX of Jeremiah, especially pertinent are A New English Translation of the Septuagint (= NETS; 2d. ed.; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009), with an Introduction to Jeremiah on pages 876–81 by Albert Pietersma and Marc Saunders; Septuaginta Deutsch: Das griechische Alte Testament in deutscher Übersetzung (= LXXD; 2d. ed.; Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft, 2010) for the translation; and in the corresponding second volume Septuaginta Deutsch: Erläuterungen und Kommentare. Psalmen bis Daniel (Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft, 2011) the presentation is by Andreas Vonach, “Jeremias,” 2696–814.

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a) The First Words of the Book (Jer 1:1):

Jer 1:1 MT: ‫“ דברי ירמיהו‬The words of Jeremiah . . .” Jer 1:1 LXX: τὸ ῥῆμα τοῦ θεοῦ “The word of God . . .”

The LXX of Jeremiah presents the book as stemming from God, whereas the Hebrew text attributes the contents to a human person, the prophet Jeremiah. Both expressions are common usage.7 In MT “the words of Jeremiah” form a frame with Jer 51:64, the concluding remark that comes before the final chapter, Jer 52, which is taken from 2 Kings.8 The essential distinction between human and divine words receives illumination from v. 2: Jer 1:2 MT: ‫“ אׁשר היה דבר־יהוה אליו‬. . . to whom the word of Yhwh had come . . .”9 Jer 1:2 LXX: ὃς ἐγενήθη λόγος τοῦ θεοῦ πρὸς αὐτὸν “. . . which came as word of God to him . . .” Looking at Jer 1:1 alone, it is difficult to judge which version ought to have preference. The context of v. 2, however, might provide insight. The combination in the Hebrew version of human and divine origin of the following book is unique for the start of prophetic scrolls and a pervasive feature of Jeremiah.10 It creates a tension that is not present in the Greek version, however, which attributes everything only to God. Taking Jer 1:1–2 together, it seems preferable to suppose that the tension of MT, accrediting Jeremiah to the prophet and to God, was original and that the Greek version eliminated it.

7   ‫ דברי‬+ name of a prophet as opening of a biblical scroll is also found in Amos 1:1; ῥῆμα τοῦ θεοῦ occurs in Isa 40:8, too, and, with κυρίου in middle position, in Num 22:18 and Jos 3:9. 8   It is absent in the LXX of Jeremiah, which, because of its different structure see 1.2.3, p. 173 below), has the oracle for Baruch there as final word (51:35 LXX). 9   This is a variation of the so-called “Wortereignisformel,” occurring 36 times in Jeremiah and various times in other biblical books; for the passages see Hermann-Josef Stipp, Deuterojeremianische Konkordanz (ATSAT 63; St. Ottilien: EOS, 1998), esp. 36–37, which also display the enormous variety in Jeremiah’s usage of it. 10  See my other article in this volume, “A New Understanding,” section 1.2 (p. 24–25), dealing with the Incipit.

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b) The first words of the prophet (Jer 1:6): Jer 1:6 MT: ‫“ אהה אדני יהוה‬Alas! Lord Yhwh!” Jer 1:6 LXX: Ὁ Ὢν δέσποτα κύριε “O Being (One), Master, Lord!”11 In Hebrew, Jeremiah starts to speak with an expression of anguish or lament. The three words are a formula.12 In Greek, the prophet begins with a reverential, devotional address to God that is reminiscent of Exod 3:14.13 Lamentation will become typical of Jeremiah later on, especially in his “confessions.” It is not easy to decide what came first. It is a normal trait of call narratives to start with an objection;14 however, there is no parallel for such an expression of wailing like ‫“ אהה‬Alas!” at the beginning. On the other hand, the devotional address of LXX is quite unusual, too.15 The textual variants within LXX in the three other parallel passages also display a certain variety in this version.16 Did the Hebrew change the “liturgical” tone of LXX (or its Vorlage) to depict a more distanced attitude of the prophet towards God, or, conversely, did the Greek version alter the apparently pessimistic first reaction of Jeremiah to a more positive one? c) The unique roles of Jeremiah (Jer 1:18) Jer 1:18 MT: ‫לעיר מבצר ולעמוד ברזל ולחמות נחׁשת‬ “. . . a fortified city, and a column of iron, and walls of bronze” Jer 1:18 LXX: ὡς πόλιν ὀχυρὰν καὶ ὡς τεῖχος χαλκοῦν ὀχυρὸν “. . . like a fortified city, and like a fortified wall of bronze”

11  Thus according to the edition of Ziegler, also in the parallel Jer 4:10; Rahlfs’ choice is both times Ὦ δέσποτα κύριε “Oh, Master, Lord!”. For an explanation see Vonach, “Jeremias,” 2737. 12  The first occurrences seem to be Josh 7:7 and Judg 6:22. Besides four times in Ezekiel, they come again in Jer 4:10; 14:13; and 32:17. 13  Therein God had revealed himself as ὁ ὢν. The other instances of the Hebrew formula in Jer are differently rendered in G. Jer 14:13 and 39:17 have either Ὁ Ὢν κύριε (in the edition of Ziegler), or Ὦ κύριε (thus Rahlfs). 14  Cf. Exod 3:11; Judg 6:13; Isa 6:5. 15  One might adduce Ezekiel’s falling down at the appearance of the Lord in Ezek 1:28, yet he does not utter any word during the call. 16   L XX’s variation of formulas can best be seen with the formula ‫“ נאם יהוה‬oracle of Yhwh”, rendered inconsistently either as λέγει κύριος “says the Lord”, as εἶπε κύριος “said the Lord”, or as φησὶν κύριος “speaks the Lord”; for the occurrences see Vonach, “Jeremias,” 2737–38.

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Jeremiah is richly endowed in Jer 1. He is appointed “prophet for the nations” (1:5), presented as the promised successor to Moses (1:7, 9),17 set above nations and kingdoms with divine power (1:10),18 and granted visions like Amos (Jer 1:11–16, cf. esp. Amos 8:1–3). As if that were not enough, the second to last verse of Jer 1 adds further, exceptional, roles.19 The Hebrew version establishes a direct relationship between prophet and the designations attributed to him,20 whereas the LXX uses the comparative particle ὡς twice. The MT has three expressions, one more than the LXX, which does not contain the middle term “column of iron,” and the plural “walls,” instead of the singular in the Greek. In any case, these additional roles for Jeremiah seem strange, and they are not encountered elsewhere. The main difference between the two versions lies in the column. It has a special significance in Jeremiah: the final chapter elaborately describes the beauty of the two bronze columns of the temple and their loss (52:17, 21–23).21 Jeremiah 52 also reports the fall of the city, its destruction, and the destruction of its walls (52:13–14). The prophet Jeremiah apparently replaces, metaphorically speaking, what gets lost:22 in the LXX this is the city and wall, the MT also contains a symbol of the temple. Once again, it is hard to come to a firm decision. Did the LXX omit the specific religious element here, or did the MT add it in order to complete the picture of the prophet Jeremiah as a substitute for all major destructions, including the sanctuary? The three examples above can be viewed from both sides of the discussion. The majority position tends to view the LXX of Jer 1 as reflecting better the

17  These verses refer to Deut 18:18, cf. below 2.3 with note 77 (p. 184), and my other article “A New Understanding” in this volume, there 2.2b (p. 38). 18  The verbs “to pluck up and to tear down, . . . to build and to plant” have God as subject in all other instances in Jer. 19  Jer 1:18 has received a lot of attention because of its ‘strange’ contents, very recently also by Christl M. Maier, “Jeremiah as YHWH’s stronghold (Jer 1:18).” VT64 (2014): 640–53. 20  The phrase ‫ נתן ל־‬has various meanings. HALAT 693, lists Jer 1:18 under “13. c. 2 acc. jmd zu etw. machen”, ‫ ל־‬in this case being equivalent to introducing a direct object, to be translated as “appoint to / as”. 21  This is valid both for MT and G. They expand even their source text, the report in 2 Kings 25. In Jer 27:19 (–22, missing in LXX) Jeremiah announces the deportation of the columns and other temple inventory / equipment. 22  Georg Fischer, “ ‘Ich mache dich . . . zur eisernen Säule’ (Jer 1,18): Der Prophet als besserer Ersatz für den untergegangenen Tempel,” ZKT 116 (1994): 447–50, new in idem, Der Prophet wie Mose: Studien zum Jeremiabuch (BZAR 15; Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2011), 269–72.

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original text,23 ascribing to the MT the changes and a tendency to expand the text, especially in 1:18. The present-day minority, on the contrary, regards the LXX of Jer 1 as secondary, reducing the tension of 1:1–2, portraying the prophet as more pious in 1:6, and limiting the strange roles of Jeremiah in 1:18 to just two. The discussion about the text of Jeremiah thus resembles a mirror image, or a ping-pong match: whatever arguments are brought forward, it seems that they can be reversed in the other direction, if one looks only at individual passages. The picture changes if a broader horizon and other aspects are taken into account; this is the next step here. 1.2 Indications Speaking against the Priority of the LXX Problems with the LXX of Jeremiah show up on various levels, starting with its attestation in Qumran 1.2.1.24 Detailed analyses of the text 1.2.2 and 1.2.5, the overall structure of the book 1.2.3, and comparisons with parallel texts serving as sources for Jeremiah 1.2.4 further suggest that one should be cautious in accepting the LXX of Jeremiah as superior to the Hebrew text. 1.2.1 The Testimony of Qumran The finds at Qumran have provided the earliest attestations to Jeremiah in several ways. Six manuscripts containing Jeremiah fragments have been found, one from Cave 2, the others from Cave 4.25 Most of them belong to the protoMasoretic textual tradition, especially the rather long leather scrolls of 4Q70 and 4Q72.26 An ongoing matter of debate is 4Q71 (earlier 4QJerb), taken by 23  E.g. Karin Finsterbusch, “MT-Jer 1,1–3,5 und LXX-Jer 1,1–3,5: Kommunikationsebenen und rhetorische Strukturen,” BZ 56 (2012): 247–63; similarly Maier, “Jeremiah.” 24  There are great differences in the textual evidence: The Hebrew manuscripts of Jeremiah are nearly uniform, having only few deviations, while the Greek texts of Jeremiah display a broad variety of readings—see the critical edition of Joseph Ziegler, Jeremias; Baruch; Threni; Epistula Jeremiae (4t. ed.; Septuaginta 15, Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2013). Furthermore, the earliest Greek manuscripts are from the 3rd century ce., whereas large parts of the Hebrew text of Jeremiah are attested to in Qumran, in scrolls from the 2nd and 1st century bce, see Richard D. Weis, “The Textual Situation in the Book of Jeremiah,” in Sôfer Mahîr: Essays in Honour of Adrian Schenker (ed. Yohanan A. P. Goldman et al.; VTSup 110; Leiden: Brill, 2006), 269–93, is especially helpful for an overview on the textual traditions of Jeremiah. 25  See the critical editions by Milik Baillet (for 2Q) and Emanuel Tov in DJD, volumes 3 and 15. 26  Emanuel Tov dates 4Q70 to the beginning of the second century BCE (DJD XV, 150). It thus is among the oldest manuscripts found in Qumran and speaks against according a Hasmonean date to the Hebrew version of the Jeremiah text, as done by e.g. Adrian

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Gerald Janzen and others as convincing evidence for the primacy of the Greek text form of Jeremiah. The limited extent and the irregularity of this manuscript, however, do not support such a far-reaching conclusion,27 and its irregularity still awaits a convincing explanation. Contrary to the interpretation of the Qumran fragments in favor of the priority of the LXX of Jeremiah, the longest, oldest, and best manuscripts of Jeremiah in Qumran actually testify in favor of a textual tradition very close to what later became known as Jer MT. This is further confirmed by the Hodayot and other writings found in Qumran that are not included in the biblical canon, such as the “List of False Prophets” (4Q339). As Armin Lange pointed out,28 citations of Jeremiah in non-canonical scrolls from Qumran predominantly follow the proto-Masoretic textual tradition. He concludes that this pre-MT tradition of Jeremiah was evidently regarded as authentic. 1.2.2 Shifts in Person, Number, and Gender The recent thesis of Oliver Glanz contributes significantly to understanding the differences between the various textual traditions of Jeremiah.29 He analyses the book with respect to its frequent changes of references, i.e., where the text switches between singular and plural, male and female, and between first, second, and third person. The high number of such shifts, 585 total in the entire book, is the sign of conscious and systematic literary technique that cannot solely be attributed to redactional procedure. The comparison of the MT, the Qumran manuscripts, Schenker, “La rédaction longue du livre de Jérémie doit-elle être datée au temps des premiers Hasmonéens?,” EThL 70 (1994): 281–93, and Christian-Bernard Amphoux, “Les réécritures du livre de Jérémie (LXX),” in Écritures et Réécritures: La Reprise Interprétative des Traditions Fondatrices par la Littérature Biblique et Extra-biblique. Cinquième Colloque Internationale du RRENAB, Universités de Genève et Lausanne, 10 - 12 juin 2010 (ed. Claire Clivaz et al.; BETL 248; Leuven: Peeters, 2012), 213–25 at 221. 27  See the remarks of Eibert Tigchelaar in this volume, and Georg Fischer, Jeremia: Der Stand der theologischen Diskussion (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2007), 21–22. The line length of 4Q71 ranges from 112 to 147 spaces, which is far beyond the norm for Qumran manuscripts in terms of the line width as well as the unevenness of the number of spaces. 28  Armin Lange, “The Question of Group Specific Texts in Light of Essene Jeremiah Quotations and Allusions,” (paper presented at the annual meeting of the SBL, Chicago, 19 November, 2012). 29  Oliver Glanz, Understanding Participant-Reference Shifts in the Book of Jeremiah: A Study of Exegetical Method and Its Consequences for the Interpretation of Referential Incoherence (SSN 60; Leiden: Brill, 2013).

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and the LXX shows an extremely close affinity between the two Hebrew attestations, with a concordance of 96% between MT and Q. It is different with the LXX of Jeremiah, which coincides with MT “in terms of existence and position” only in 67% of the cases.30 Besides some mixed or unclear cases, the most interesting insight is that there are 80 cases (corresponding to 13.8%) where shifts in the Hebrew textual tradition are not mirrored in the LXX, an indication that the LXX of Jeremiah tends to reduce incoherence and to produce a smoother text. 1.2.3 The Structure of the Book The clearest indication of conscious deviation between the Hebrew and Greek texts of Jeremiah is the different arrangement of the book. The most obvious example for that is found in the oracles against the foreign nations. In the LXX, they come in the middle of the book, in chapters 25–31, seemingly following the “classical” structure of prophetic books, containing the sequence woe for Israel—woe for other nations—salvation for Israel.31 The MT has these oracles at the end, as chapters 46–51, with Babylon as the culmination before Jer 52. This chapter is parallel in both textual traditions and reports the final destruction of Jerusalem. The arrangement of the Hebrew text of Jeremiah is unusual, yet it fits well with the overall development of key themes within the book, especially the roles of Egypt and Babylon.32 Thus, the LXX of Jeremiah appears to present the more usual arrangement of prophetic books, but this leads to problems for the internal coherence of the book, e.g., Egypt and Babylon receive judgment long before it becomes clear what they are responsible for.33 On the other hand, Jeremiah MT displays an 30  Glanz, Understanding, 232. 31  For a table of the different arrangements see e.g., Vonach, “Jeremias,” 2698. Even the LXX of Jeremiah cannot be completely subsumed in this scheme, as Jer 32–52 (LXX) contain a lot of judgment on Israel, too. However, the LXX follows the traditional structure much more closely than does MT. There are further differences in structure between the Greek and the Hebrew texts, e.g. the position of the Babylon oracles within those against the foreign nations in the LXX, where they occur second, after Egypt (Jer LXX 27–28), whereas in MT they come at the very end (Jer 50–51). 32  See my other article in this volume, “A New Understanding of the Book of Jeremiah,” esp. notes 22 and 24 (on p. 27–28). Judgments on Egypt and Babylon in the middle of the book, as found in the LXX of Jeremiah, clash with its general progression, even in the LXX of Jeremiah, where Egypt later becomes the country to which Judeans flee (in the LXX, chapters 49–51), and Babylonian forces later besiege and capture Jerusalem (chapters 44–46). 33  Admittedly, Jeremiah does not follow “normal” logic in many instances. The chronology of the book is out of order, and even in the arrangement of the MT, God’s retribution for his

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abnormal arrangement for the book as a whole in comparison to similar scrolls; on the level of details and inner cohesiveness, however, it seems more logical. There is no middle way here: one has to give preference to either the LXX or the MT. The different structures of the books are no casual accident, but the product of a deliberate decision. Opting for the LXX means granting priority to the traditional scheme and accepting the “illogical” presentation regarding key themes. Taking the order of the MT as original implies giving preference to a unique composition,34 in chronology as well as in the arrangement of the book, as a consequence of a progressive development of various motifs and themes.35 A vote for the LXX favors the usual overall structure, but this conclusion must accept a lot of problems in other areas. Conversely, to opt for the MT includes counting on refined developments of several topics within an unorthodox design. 1.2.4 External Comparisons There is general agreement about the dependence of Jer 52 on its parallel in 2 Kgs 24:18–25:30.36 This is the most obvious case where there is a Vorlage for a text in Jeremiah, namely the end of 2 Kings. It has the added advantage that we still have access to it and are thus not constrained to speculation.37 There are four, or in part even six texts that provide details on the destruction of Jerusalem in 587 bce:38 the Hebrew and the Greek texts of 2 Kgs, the Hebrew and Greek of Jer 52, and, in part, both versions of 2 Chr 36. The results

temple in Jerusalem, which is to be executed upon Babylon (50:28; 51:11), comes before the reported destruction of this sanctuary (52:13) and is thus an anticipation. However, this is a minor tension compared to the one mentioned in the previous note. 34  Compared with the criteria for textual criticism, the MT of Jeremiah would correspond more to a “lectio difficilior,” which should be preferred. 35  One further example is the “cup of wrath” in Jer 25:15–29 (in the LXX, chapter 32), announcing God’s judgment to begin with Jerusalem and to end with the “King of Sheshach.” The MT version is in line with it in terms of the structure of the book as well as the order of the oracles against the foreign nations, whereas the LXX differs in both respects. 36  An exception is Emma Abate, La fine del regno di Sedecia (Madrid: Instituto di Filologia, 2008). She considers the LXX of Jer 52 G to be the oldest textual layer (ibid., 157). 37  For a few further examples, see Fischer, “Diskussion,” 616–17. 38  Or seven, if Jer 39 (MT) is also considered. Its parallel, Jer 46 (LXX) does not contain the vv. 4–13, describing for the first time events at the capture of Jerusalem. This lacuna avoids the repetition with Jer 52.

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with respect to the relationship of 2 Kings with Jer 52 can be summarized as follows:39 Jer 52 MT // LXX expand its source text with a series of additions in vv. 10, 11, 14, 20, 21, 34. Jer 52 LXX is an independent translation, not based on 4 Kgdms 24:18– 25:30, its Greek counterpart, as is shown by, for example, the different renderings of verbs in vv. 4 and 7. It also has a tendency to use rare expressions. Jer 52 MT contains the longest addition in vv. 28–30, giving the dates and numbers of three deportations. Jer 52 LXX is the shortest of all four texts, even in comparison with 4 Kingdoms, which is already shorter than 2 Kings. It does not contain vv. 2–3, 15, and several other expressions found in the three other parallel versions.40 In conclusion, Jer 52 LXX is the most divergent version of all the parallel accounts. As Jer 52, in both textual traditions, is dependent on the end of 2 Kgs, the Greek translation of Jer 52 seems to have substantially changed the original text. 1.2.5 Further Observations There have been many other investigations of the text of Jeremiah in recent years that indicate the problems with the LXX of Jeremiah or give preference to the MT. I only mention a few of them in the following, starting with two more general arguments. In the introduction to Jeremiah in NETS,41 Albert Pietersma and Marc Saunders deal with doublets in the book and compare the renderings of Jer 10:12–16 and Jer 51 (28 LXX):15–19. They see “a considerable number of both

39  Cf. Georg Fischer, “Jeremia 52 – ein Schlüssel zum Jeremiabuch,” Bib 79 (1998): 333–59, repr. in idem, Der Prophet wie Mose: Studien zum Jeremiabuch (BZAR 15; Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2011), 42–63. 40  The amount of abbreviation corresponds to what can be observed in the rest of Jeremiah, where the LXX is up to a sixth shorter than the MT. Maybe this is also the case for the contents missing in the LXX of Jer 52, which displays similar tendencies as elsewhere in the book. At the end of the 19th century, Friedrich Giesebrecht, Das Buch Jeremia (HKAT; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1894), 261–62, already named the missing of verses 2–3 in the LXX a “deliberate shortening” (“absichtliche Kürzung”). 41  See note 6.

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stylistic and interpretational differences—and that in what is a patent doublet on the Hebrew side.”42 This is a sign of inconsistency. Benjamin Foreman analyses the animal imagery in Jeremiah.43 He compares the textual variants between the LXX and the MT. In nearly all cases he gives precedence to the Hebrew version as being the more difficult and original wording. Several studies that are limited to certain areas or themes of Jeremiah follow the same line of interpretation. Konrad Schmid’s Habilitationsschrift deals with Jer 30–33.44 He concludes that the LXX of Jer does not reflect literary seams of the Hebrew text, and concludes that this reflects its secondary character.45 The Canaanite deity Baal, first mentioned in Jeremiah in 2:8, is rendered twelve times in the LXX as ἡ Βααλ, a feminine goddess. Andreas Vonach explains this fact in light of the veneration of the goddess Isis in Egypt.46 The change from the originally masculine deity to the female form signifies an adaptation to the different religious setting there. Jeremiah 25 is like a central pillar for the book. The vv. 1–14 are the last common ground between the MT and the LXX before their separation with respect to the book’s structure; in v. 14 the two versions begin to deviate. Shimon Gesundheit recently treated this problem,47 and he recognizes that the LXX version presupposes a text similar to the MT, but it smoothes out the tensions such that v. 3 of the LXX is incomprehensible.48 42   NETS, 880. Earlier, Franz D. Hubmann, Untersuchungen zu den Konfessionen Jer 11,18–12,6 und Jer 15,10–21 (FzB 30; Würzburg: Echter, 1978), had similarly observed discrepancies in the translations of these parallel texts in Jeremiah called “doublets’ ” and advised caution with respect to the LXX (ibid., 242–43). 43  Benjamin Foreman, Animal Metaphors and the People of Israel in the Book of Jeremiah (FRLANT 238; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2011). 44  Konrad Schmid, Buchgestalten des Jeremiabuches: Untersuchungen zur Redaktions- und Rezeptionsgeschichte von Jer 30–33 im Kontext des Buches (WMANT 72; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1996). 45  Schmid, Buchgestalten, 19–24, esp. 19, calling the LXX of Jeremiah a “synchronic interpretation,” and ibid., 22, “eine durchgängige, wenn nicht Eliminierung, so doch Nivellierung literarischer Nahtstellen.” My own investigation on Jer 30–31, Das Trostbüchlein (SBB 26; Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 1993), arrived at the same result with respect to the profile of the LXX. 46  Andreas Vonach, “Ἡ Βααλ in der Jer-LXX,” in Horizonte biblischer Texte (ed. Andreas Vonach and Georg Fischer; OBO 196; Fribourg: Academic Press, 2003), 59–70 esp. 66–67. 47  Shimon Gesundheit, “The Question of LXX Jeremiah as a Tool for Literary-Critical Analysis,” VT 62 (2012): 29–57; for the “flattening” tendency see esp. p. 53. 48  For a broader exposition of the problems connected with the Greek text of Jeremiah, see also the second chapter in Fischer, Stand (pp. 17–53), and my entry, “Jeremiah, Septuagint,”

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1.3 Conclusion Jeremiah as a whole and especially its Greek text are a mystery. On nearly every level there are difficulties with the LXX of Jeremiah.49 They reflect the enormous task as well as the difficulty of translating an unvocalized and to a large extent poetic original for a socially and culturally different milieu at a much later time. This translation was also an opportunity to alter the composition of the book substantially, “streamlining” some fractures in its structure.50 Nevertheless, the translator(s) tried to adhere closely to the original, sometimes even maintaining the order of its words, taking the risk of producing a barely comprehensible Greek text.51 According to the present-day majority opinion, the LXX of Jeremiah is a generally faithful translation of a Hebrew text that was quite different from what later became the MT version of the book. They propose a distinct Vorlage for which we have no proof. While a Vorlage certainly must have existed, we have no access to it. Therefore, speculation about it is methodologically hazardous because we are unable to verify it in any way.52 The arguments and the detailed analyses mentioned above heavily undermine the majority position and suggest that investigations should no longer in The Hebrew Bible (ed. Emanuel Tov and Armin Lange; vol. 1 of Textual History of the Bible; Leiden: Brill, forthcoming). 49  Even supporters of the high quality of the LXX of Jeremiah admit troubles with it. Pietersma and Saunders (see n. 6 above) note that the LXX version did not aim at “lexical or grammatical consistency,” differentiated “due to context,” displays “variations at the word, phrase, and clause level,” and was “working at lower levels of constituent structure at the expense of the larger units of discourse” (NETS, 876–78, 880). Hermann-Josef Stipp, (Das masoretische und alexandrinische Sondergut des Jeremiabuches [OBO 136; Fribourg: Universitätsverlag 1994]) also draws an ambivalent picture of the LXX of Jeremiah. He observes lacunae in it that lead to problems in the cohesion of the text (e.g. ibid., 43), text changes in Jer 22:15 (ibid., 55–56), and other signs of its unreliability. 50  Vonach, “Jeremias,” 2697–702. 51  Georg A. Walser, Jeremiah: A Commentary based on Ieremias in Codex Vaticanus (Septuagint Commentary Series; Leiden: Brill, 2012), 6–7, 14–16. This is especially true for some transcriptions that must have been unintelligible for Greek readers, for example Σαων εσβι εμωηδ (Jer LXX 26:17, corresponding to 46:17 in Hebrew). 52  It is impossible to exclude the possibility of a different Hebrew Vorlage underlying the LXX translation of Jeremiah. However, in the light of the observations adduced above, especially a still extant Vorlage for Jer 52 in 2 Kings, this supposition seems implausible. To assume something like such a Vorlage to which we have no access and which is beyond our ability to control methodologically runs the risk of biasing the whole investigation. For the dangers of this methodological procedure cf. Fischer, “Diskussion,” 620, esp. also note 26.

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take for granted the priority of the LXX of Jeremiah. The above arguments also lead to the conclusion that the LXX of Jeremiah interpreted and transformed its Vorlage in the process of the translation and rearranged the book. Therefore, the LXX of Jeremiah provides no help in reconstructing the formation of the book of Jeremiah. 2

The Formulaic Language of the Book of Jeremiah

The mysteries of Jeremiah continue with its language. Jeremiah offers an enormous variety of expressions, images, changes in forms of communication, formulae, genres, etc. Hermann-Josef Stipp’s contribution concentrates on one very specific aspect of Jeremiah’s formulaic language, namely its relationship to Deuteronomistic (Dtr) usage, making use of several texts as examples. The entire book of Jeremiah is marked by various kinds of formulae. Above (1.1a, p. 168) we dealt with the “word-event-formula,” occurring in many variations from 1:2 onwards. In another form, it is found a further three times in the same chapter (1:4, 11, 13). Stipp himself has provided an excellent tool for the investigation of such stock phrases in Jeremiah,53 and it demonstrates that they are pervasive on various levels throughout the book. The presence of Dtr thinking is also confirmed by the opening of the final chapter, Jer 52:1–3, which completely follows Deuteronomistic phraseology and thought.54 From the beginning of the book to the end, there are countless repetitions that function as a necessary means to hold together this large, seemingly disparate book that contains so many different types of material.55 The frequency of formulae and formulaic language is a sub-phenomenon of this feature that is so typical for Jeremiah.56 What is more fascinating with regard to this feature of the book is the high degree of variation in the use of doublets, stock phrases, and other repetitions. 53  Stipp, Konkordanz. Examples are the veneration of other gods, leading the forefathers out of Egypt, the triad of plagues, and so on. 54  Jer 52:3, e.g., employs ‫“ מרד‬to revolt,” not otherwise found in the book, but five times in Josh 22 and four times in 2 Kings. Such Dtr ideology can also be seen in Jer 15:4, where the guilt for the unstoppable destruction of Jerusalem is attributed to King Manasseh, similar to 2 Kgs 21:11; 23:26; and 24:3. 55  Cf. my other article in this volume, “A New Understanding,” the exposition in 1.2 (p. 24–28). 56  For a broader view of the various phenomena of repetitions in Jeremiah see Georg Fischer, Jeremia 1–25 (HThKAT; Freiburg: Herder, 2005), 47–49.

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This is a sign of the attentiveness and creativity of its author.57 Only rarely are expressions fully identical; often small changes indicate another, slightly different nuance. A series of hapax legomena and unique phrases demonstrates further that whoever was responsible for Jeremiah was not content to follow well-trodden paths, but consciously chose the exact wording. In accordance with this approach to understanding the texts dealt with by Stipp, I would like to bring out how they combine commonly used phraseology with originality as a possible sign of an authorship different from a Dtr hand. 2.1 Jer 42:10–18—A Mixed Picture This passage is part of the larger unit of 42:7–22, which as a whole relates the divine response (v. 7) to the request for guidance as to whether they should leave for Egypt or stay in the land that Jeremiah transmits to the Judeans fearing the Chaldeans (41:18).58 I agree with Stipp with respect to the embedding of the prophet’s speech, its key role, the long introduction,59 and also to the non-Dtr character of this reply. Going a step further, I would like to point out some special features of this text. The combination in v. 12 of ‫נתן‬, referring to God, and ‫רחמים‬, to be granted by somebody else, has a close parallel in 1 Kgs 8:50. The expression ‫שׂריד ופליט‬ in v. 17 has only one parallel, namely Josh 8:22 where “neither survivor nor one who escapes” remains for Ai when it is struck by Joshua’s troops. These are

57  See e.g. the enormous variety in the mention of the three plagues, in the combinations of “Judah” and “Jerusalem,” and in the list of verbs with “tear down and pluck up, . . . build and plant” documented by Stipp, Konkordanz, 49–50, 56–58, 96, and, more generally, the remarks in Fischer, Jeremia 1–25, 50–53. 58  This is not expressed directly in 42:1–6, but can be deduced from the divine answer in the following verses. Furthermore, it is the first reported reversal of the prohibition to intercede, which is a unique feature of Jer (cf. 7:16; 11:14; 14:11), as Jeremiah prays here on behalf of the people and God accepts his intercession and grants a response. For the motif of intercession in Jer Benedetta Rossi, L’intercessione nel tempo della fine. Studio dell’intercessione profetica nel libro di Geremia (AnBib 204; Rome: Gregorian & Biblical Press, 2013) has contributed the most thorough recent study. 59  Stipp, “Formulaic Language,” (p. 149), states: “. . . most extended prelude to a prophetic utterance in the entire Hebrew Bible.” In my understanding, this lengthy prelude serves as an exemplary model of a request for intercession. It also serves as an example for its distortion because Jer 43 reports disobedience towards God’s answer, namely against the promise in 42:5–6 to obey.

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signs that Dtr language and ideas are in the background of Jer 42,60 although not pervasively. Besides the closeness to Dtr motifs, Jer 42 displays traits that are typical of or specific to Jeremiah. One example is the list of verbs in v. 10, taking up 1:10 in a unique variation. A second are expressions in v. 15, ‫“ ועתה לכן‬but now, therefore . . .,”61 and to “set the face to enter” in v. 15. The latter appears again in 44:12 and otherwise only in Dan 11:17. There is also the unique phrase ‫ דבק‬. . . ‫“ רעב‬hunger will stick” in v. 16. In v. 18 is the exclusively Jeremianic locution “my anger and my wrath . . . poured out,” also found in Jer 7:20 and 44:6.62 Furthermore, there are the four negative words ‫ לאלה ולׁשמה ולקללה ולחרפה‬in v. 18, picking up partially on Jer 24:9 and 25:11, which has an exact parallel in 44:12,63 and no other attestation elsewhere. All this terminology indicates that the formulaic language of Jer 42:10–18 has a distinctive “Jeremianic flavor.” This passage contains further interesting traits. Jeremiah 42:12 addresses those intending to leave Judah for Egypt; however, they are promised that “he will make you return to your land,” which seems to have those exiled to Babylon in mind.64 This looks like a mixture of reference levels, bringing together various meanings into one quite common formulaic clause. Also striking is the communication structure. Verse 13 starts with the subordinate clause of a conditional phrase and introduces two quotations (in v. 13 and in v. 14). Verse 15 continues with the main clause. After the exhortation to listen and an extended messenger formula,65 it opens a new conditional phrase with the dependent clause, “If you really set your face to enter . . .” This gives the impression of a complicated interlacing of sentences. These two examples (v. 12 and vv. 13–15) are indications of the complexity of this small unit and of Jeremiah in general. 60  One might add the phrase “to repent of the evil” in v. 10, found also in Exod 32:12, 14; 2 Sam 24:16. In the latter passage it appears with the same preposition ‫אל‬, as predominantly in Jeremiah. However, here in Jer 42, it seems to be the only instance where this phrase refers to a past action. 61  The only other occurrence in the Bible is Jer 32:36. 62  The latter passage inverts the nouns, once again a sign of an alteration in detail. 63  There the second word is linked asyndetically (‫)לׁשמה‬, without ‫ו־‬. 64  The idiom “to make return to the land” has Yhwh as subject in all other instances in Jeremiah. The LXX (Jer 49:12) similarly has first person singular verbs here for God’s action. Only in Jer MT 42:12 does it refer to somebody else who, by divine intervention, will have pity on the Israelites and allow their homecoming—a veiled reference to Cyrus’ allowance? 65  “Yhwh of Hosts, the God of Israel” is attested many times in Jeremiah, starting with 7:3. Its first occurrence might be 2 Sam 7:27, a Dtr passage, with 1 Chr 17:24 as its parallel.

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Summing up, Jer 42:10–18 is marked by Dtr ideas as well as by Jeremianic idioms and thoughts, with the latter being dominant. This results in a mixed picture of its language, which also confirms Stipp’s position with respect to the non-Dtr character of the passage. On the other hand, the specific features of this text point towards a more highly developed type of language, possibly a sign of a later time. The long introduction, which is comparable to a model case for a request for prophetic intercession, the dense, intricate manner of the presentation, and also the intensifying continuation (vv. 19–22) could fit with this conclusion. 2.2 Jer 44—“Some Sort of Duplicate”? Stipp sees a Dtr editor at work in Jer 44, who “appended another confrontation between Jeremiah and the Judeans.”66 He focuses especially on 44:7–8. Once again, I agree with him in part, this time on the fact that some Dtr idioms appear in these two verses; Stipp connects them mainly with the “worship of foreign gods.” I would also add the locution ‫“ איׁש־ואׁשה עולל ויונק‬man and woman, child and suckling,” which is only attested twice otherwise, in 1 Sam 15:3 and 22:19. But this is only one side of the coin. The other one is their specific Jeremianic character. The messenger formula is extended, naming “Yhwh, the God of Hosts, the God of Israel” as the originator of the prophet’s proclamation, which only occurs elsewhere in Jer 35:17 and 38:17. Similarly, the phrase ‫עשׂים רעה‬ ‫ גדולה על־נפׁש‬in v. 7 “inflicting great evil upon oneself” has only one parallel, namely Jer 26:19. And the words ‫ קללה‬and ‫ חרפה‬in v. 8,67 are not paired outside of Jeremiah. There is another indication of a slight deviation from typical Dtr language in Jer 44:8. The formulaic ‫( כעס‬in the Hiphil) + ‫“ במעשׂה ידי־‬to provoke with the work of (your / their) hands” is found in Deut 31:29; 2 Kgs 22:17; Jer 25:6–7; 32:30. Here, however, the plural ‫“ במעשׂי‬with the works” is used, as it occurs only once again in 2 Chr 34:25.68 If one attends not only to 44:7–8, but to the entire speech of Jeremiah in 44:1–14, the differences with respect to Dtr ideas

66  Stipp, “Formulaic Language,” p. 152. 67  They appear again in Jer 44:12 in reversed order; they are also in Jer 24:9 and 49:13, but not in direct sequence. 68  This is the parallel passage to 2 Kgs 22:17, which uses the singular. There is a similar unique connection with the Book of Chronicles in Jer 42:16: The phrase ‫( נשׂג‬in the Hiphil) with ‫ חרב‬as a subject links it exclusively with 1 Chr 21:12.

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and phraseology become still more visible.69 Even when alluding in Jer 44:9 to the negative Dtr evaluation of King Solomon’s wives in 1 Kgs 11:3–4, 8, the language and the thrust of this verse in Jeremiah is markedly dissimilar. The next verse, 44:10, contains the verb ‫דכא‬, obviously used here as an Aramaic loan word with the meaning “to cleanse, to clear.”70 Looking at the entire unit, its difference and distance from Dtr language and thought weighs much more than the usage of certain Dtr phrases because the latter are only used within a specific Jeremianic framework to convey a distinct and richer message. This would also suggest that a Dtr editor should not be adduced for this passage. There is yet another reason why Jer 44 may not be regarded as a “sort of duplicate” of Jer 42. The setting is completely different, and its position and significance are as well. Jeremiah 42 was spoken in Judah, near Bethlehem (41:17), still before the departure; in Jer 44 Jeremiah addresses those who have left their home country against God’s advice and settled in Egypt. Structurally, Jer 42 is “in between,” after the people’s request and their reaction to the divine answer, whereas Jer 44 occurs after having heard God’s will and having been disobedient to him. Jeremiah 44 occupies the final position, where the narrative movement of Jer reaches its (negative) climax. This is further underlined by the outspoken intention to venerate the “Queen of Heaven” in the people’s response to Jeremiah’s speech (44:15–19), and his double reply to it (44:20–23, 24–30). In this section, the prophet, in God’s name, uses the root ‫“ נדר‬to vow; a vow” four times in v. 25, interpreting the community’s self-obligation to worship other gods in v. 17 as a solemn pledge, and ironically exhorting them to fulfill it. After having experienced the destruction of Jerusalem as a consequence of not listening to Yhwh, this group goes even further, reaching a peak of stubborn disobedience and insolence. 2.3 Jeremiah 29:16–20—“A Secondary Supplement”? These verses ostensibly do not fit well. In 29:15 “prophets in Babylon” are the theme, and only v. 21 returns to this topic, mentioning the prophets Ahab and Zedekiah. Thus Stipp’s decision to view vv. 16–20 as a secondary insertion 69  The sequence “not listen and not incline the ear” to God’s instruction (v. 5) is uniquely Jeremianic, starting with Jer 7:24, 26. In the treatment of Jer 42, we already presented the three non-Dtr expressions of “my anger and my wrath . . . poured out” (v. 18; 44:6), “set the face to enter,” and the four negative words ‫( לאלה ולׁשמה ולקללה ולחרפה‬42:15, 18; also 44:12). 70  Gary A. Anderson, “How Does Almsgiving Purge Sins?” in Hebrew in the Second Temple Period: The Hebrew of the Dead Sea Scrolls and of Other Contemporary Sources (ed. Steven E. Fassberg et al.; STDJ 108; Leiden: Brill, 2013), 1–14 at 13. I stop here with indications for the non-Dtr character of Jer 44:1–14; more examples can be read in Fischer, Jeremia 26–52 (HThKAT; Freiburg: Herder, 2005), 435–41.

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seems natural.71 This may be so, and it is also impossible to prove that these verses are not secondary. However, there are some factors that cast doubt on such a conclusion. The address of those in Babylon with a second person plural continues from v. 15 into v. 16: “. . . which did not go out with you into exile.”72 Jeremiah 29:17–18 communicates to them the negative evaluation that Jeremiah had received in his vision of the two baskets of figs in Jer 24, informing them about the terrible fate awaiting those who had remained in Jerusalem mentioned just before in v. 16. This is appropriate in two respects. It takes up Jer 24 which had, like Jer 29, those exiled with King Jehoiachin in view, and it deals with the issue of pondering the respective fates of those in Babylon versus those in Jerusalem, which is the backdrop of the entire chapter.73 Prophets in Babylon and some of those exiled seem to have regarded those who were able to remain in Jerusalem as the lucky ones, whereas the assessment of God and Jeremiah is completely the opposite, giving preference to those in the Golah. The latter aspect is treated in two directions. Jeremiah 29:19 first accuses the population of Jerusalem for not listening to God’s words, but then (a) levels the same reproach at the address of those exiled: “. . . and you did not listen,” thus calling to mind their sinful past.74 In contrast to that, (b) v. 20 exhorts them to listen now to Yhwh’s message and uses the verb ‫“ ׁשלח‬to send” for their banishment “from Jerusalem to Babylon,”75 interpreting the exile as a divine mission and thus giving it a deeper meaning. This is in tune with 29:11–14 and able to foster hope among the deported.

71  Stipp, “Formulaic Language,” p. 156: “definitely a late intrusion,” and “undoubtedly a secondary supplement.” 72  The phrase ‫“ יצא בגולה‬to go out into exile” only recurs again in Jer 48:7 and in Zech 14:2. 73  See the conflict in Jer 29 between God (and Jeremiah) pleading to settle down in exile for a limited time, against some prophets in Babylon who obviously are opposed to it, most clearly Shemaiah, who indirectly declares Jeremiah a “madman” when referring to his message (vv. 26–28). Before that, these prophets in Babylon are denounced for “deceit” (‫ׁשקר‬, v. 9, also v. 23) and immoral behavior (“committing adultery,” v. 23). 74  This switch of the focus within one verse brings together two different aspects; cf. also above the problem with the reference in 42:12. 75  This expression forms a frame with the beginning of the chapter, where it occurred three times in vv. 1–4 (in vv. 2–3 separated). The messenger formula in v. 21 starts a new subunit, dealing with the prophets Ahab and Zedekiah; thus v. 20, although summoning them to listen and in this way also being a transition to what follows, is at the same time an appropriate closure for that part of God’s communication, which has the Babylonian Golah directly in view. The Codex Leningradensis has Setumot before v. 16 and after v. 20, therefore taking vv. 16–20 as a small unit.

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The preceding observations unveil concealed features of the unit 29:16–20. Seemingly an “insertion,” it is “inserted” exceedingly well into its context. It continues with debated issues and enables the discussion to proceed in a very refined manner. This raises doubts about its “secondary” character.76 There are still more reasons to question its secondary nature. As it stands, the unit of 29:16–20 reacts to v. 15. There the exiles are quoted: “Yhwh has raised up for us prophets in Babylon.” The expression ‫ קום‬in the Hiphil + ‫נביא‬, “raise up a prophet,” is exclusively linked with Deut 18:15, 18, God’s promise of a prophet like Moses in the future. This stands in stark contrast to Jer 1:7, 9 where Jeremiah is portrayed as this promised successor of Moses.77 Jeremiah 20:15 thus challenges Jeremiah’s authority, confronting him with a similar claim for prophets in Babylon. Jeremiah 29:16–20 is an indirect reply to this contention, reversing the announcements and expectations of those in Babylon who see themselves as less well-off and the population in Jerusalem as the blessed. Picking up the vision of Jer 24 and extending it further,78 God’s message through Jeremiah first inverts this misjudgment and then invites them to seek a better future by listening to him. This includes the divine concern and plans for them, communicated immediately before in 29:11–14, and it signifies a change with respect to what had earlier been a cause for the disaster which befell them, namely “not to listen” (v. 19). Upon closer investigation and attending to the larger context, the unit of Jer 29:16–20 is very meaningful in its place and offers something akin to an answer to the challenge raised in v. 15 to Jeremiah’s legitimation and, indirectly, also to his advice to settle down for a limited time in Babylon.79 2.4 Concluding Reflections Stipp’s analyses, based on the formulaic language of the three texts, resulted in three different attributions—Jer 42:10–18 as non-Dtr, parts of Jer 44 as a Dtr 76  Stipp also adduces the “pre-Masoretic idiolect” of 29:16–20 as an argument for taking it as a “late intrusion.” Viewed from another perspective, his observations of such words encountered only in the MT and not in the LXX are a natural phenomenon: A translation, all the more the LXX of Jeremiah, which is so much shorter than the MT, cannot be expected to contain all the expressions of the original language and source text. 77  The connections with Deut 18:18 are “to speak everything that I command him / you,” and “to put my words into his / your mouth,” the latter one being an “exclusive relationship.” 78  See especially 29:18, with its unique combinations of ‫“ רדף‬to pursue, to persecute” with the triad of plagues, and of ‫( זועה‬Ketib, the Qere is ‫“ )זעוה‬deterrence” with the ‘Katastrophenformel’ “curse, terror. . . .” 79  The reasons brought forward here for the linkage of this unit with Jer 29 cannot establish beyond doubt that it belonged to the original composition of the chapter; however, they caution against interpreting it too easily as a later insertion.

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duplicate to it, and Jer 29:16–20 as a late, secondary intrusion. He is convinced “that formulaic usage ranks among the paramount pointers to the literary history of the book.”80 I am not so confident about this conclusion. A closer look at these passages reveals other aspects that do not fit well with his interpretation. In all cases, the phraseology used gives a mixed impression. Parts of it consist of common expressions also used elsewhere; yet in all three texts, in nearly every verse, the language is frequently surprising in its variety and in the use of formulae. It often employs fresh combinations and new, sometimes even unique elements. Reading Jeremiah is a constant source of amazement, offering pieces of formulaic usage, yet with a high degree of variation and creativity that is paired with specific Jeremianic language and thinking. On the levels of motifs and communication, Jeremiah is still more astonishing. It brings together several perspectives, as seen in 42:12 and 29:19. It addresses those desiring to leave the country; it has in view those in exile and addresses them; and it focuses on the remainder in Jerusalem. This creates a strange, ambiguous impression, as if various settings become merged, probably an indication of the wish to collect and to integrate many experiences and positions. As a consequence, Jeremiah is immensely rich and condensed, and its changing pictures often resemble a kaleidoscopic presentation. The mysteries of Jeremiah continue with the book’s dynamic. There is a clear progression from Jer 42 to Jer 44, the latter chapter forming a kind of “pseudocoda”:81 it is chronologically and ideologically the last passage dealing with those Judeans who survived the fall of Jerusalem. They should have learned their lesson, but they did not. Even after the worst calamity of Judean history in ancient times, they continue to refuse to listen to God’s word and his prophet. This arrangement shows a well-planned organization of the book. On various levels—formulaic usage, communication structure, and overall dynamic—indications of deliberate design show up. This design obliges us to reflect on the method. Are the arguments brought forward by Stipp and others strong enough to claim a “literary history” of the book? The above evidence suggests caution; too many factors speak against it, and several aspects even point in another direction. It seems to be a most thoughtful composition in all its astonishing complexity. The formation of the book of Jeremiah remains a mystery.

80  Stipp, “Formulaic Usage,” p. 148. 81  For this literary feature in Jeremiah see Fischer, Stand, 98–99. Once again, I thank Mrs. Felicity Stephens for the correction of the English.

chapter 13

What Does “Deuteronomistic” Designate? A Response to Hermann-Josef Stipp Elisa Uusimäki I wish to begin my response by thanking Professor Hermann-Josef Stipp for his clear, meticulous, and carefully argued paper, which clearly results from decades of dedicated research. Its topic goes beyond my own area of research, and I have no expertise to comment on the details of Stipp’s fine argumentation. Instead, I would like to address two clusters of questions that are related to the methodological rules derived by Stipp, because they seem to resonate with certain questions that have been posed regarding Jewish literature from the late Second Temple era in the past decades. Stipp asks whether the formulaic language in the book of Jeremiah can serve as a means for identifying the Deuteronomistic origin of selected passages. He presents two case studies where he tests ideas previously presented by J. Philipp Hyatt, Winfried Thiel, and Ernst Nicholson. First, Stipp analyses an oracle in Jeremiah 42 that, despite the formulaic language, lacks specific Deuteronomistic content. He states that passages that sound Deuteronomistic may not in fact be so, as the diction could be adopted by various authors in different milieus and times. Second, Stipp studies Jeremiah 29 and argues that since verses 16–20 interrupt the text, they could be a Deuteronomistic intrusion. Yet the section is not found in the Septuagint and contains items from the so-called pre-Masoretic idiolect, suggesting that it was added much later than the sixth century bce. This evidence points to the continuation of the deuteroJeremianic vocabulary over centuries as well. Based on his observations, Stipp concludes that the identification of formulaic language itself is fairly straightforward, but such language occurs in both Deuteronomistic and non-Deuteronomistic parts of the book of Jeremiah. Accordingly, the formulaic language is akin to, but not identical with, Deuteronomistic diction. Another conclusion of Stipp is that the deuteroJeremianic usage should be understood as a specialized idiom for composing parenetic texts. My questions concern these conclusions. First of all, I would like to address the functional implications of Stipp’s statement that the deutero-Jeremianic language was employed as a specialized idiom, “the natural home” of which © koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���7 | doi ��.��63/9789004320253_014

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was “discourse”; moreover, Stipp associates this idiom with the label “parenetic.” Since “parenetic” is typically defined as hortatory and persuasive, and often used in relation to pedagogical, perhaps wisdom-related, instruction material, it is worth reflecting on what this actually means in the context of Jeremiah. What kind of a discourse are we talking about in terms of the sections analyzed by Stipp? In particular, I would be interested in hearing what Stipp’s claim of the restricted use of a specialized idiom tells us about the purpose of deuteroJeremianic texts, now known from a context associated with prophecy. Does the Deuteronomistic language have an affinity of some kind with the category of wisdom, which seems to resist strict generic classification?1 Does the idiom imply that these sections of Jeremiah serve as instruments for some kind of divine paideia, that is to say, education and cultivation of the audience believed to originate from God, Israel’s divine instructor? The second question to be addressed pertains to the definition of the heuristic concept of “Deuteronomistic.” On account of his textual observations, Stipp admits that “[t]he demarcation of Deuteronomism is ultimately a matter of definition,” but nevertheless continues to conclude that “[i]f the adjective ‘Deuteronomistic’ is meant to retain its distinctive force, it cannot be employed as an umbrella term for all texts using the relevant vocabulary. Rather, a set of criteria needs to be set out for discriminating proper Dtr texts from similar but different phenomena.”2 This argument about the need to retain the “distinctive force” of “Deutero­ nomistic” reminds me somewhat of the discussion on the phenomenon of rewriting, which has been lively in the past decades among those who work with the Dead Sea Scrolls and related material. Scholars have argued over whether the modern concept of rewriting should be understood as referring to a strictly defined literary genre or to a broad literary process with a sliding scale of interpretative texts. Some have feared that the term becomes too vague if used in an inclusive manner.3 On the other hand, the categorization of 1  See, for example, Stuart Weeks, “Is ‘Wisdom Literature’ a Useful Category?” (paper presented at Rethinking the Boundaries of Sapiential Traditions in Ancient Judaism: Third International Symposium on Jewish and Christian Literature from the Hellenistic and Roman Period, Université de Lorraine, October 2014). 2  Hermann-Joseph Stipp, “Formulaic Language and the Formation of the Book of Jeremiah,” in this volume, 164. 3  In particular, see Moshe J. Bernstein, “ ‘Rewritten Bible’: A Generic Category which has Outlived Its Usefulness?” Textus 22 (2005): 169–96. Recently, see also Daniel A. Machiela, “Once More, with Feeling: Rewritten Scripture in Ancient Judaism—A Review of Recent Developments,” JJS 61 (2010): 308–20.

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the compositions into clearly defined boxes has proved impossible. The extant material is too diverse for any simple classification, and there is no evidence to demonstrate that the ancient authors would have had an idea of the genre of rewritten texts with set criteria. Hence, many scholars—even though not all—have come to prefer a flexible definition of rewriting. They conceptualize this complex and multiform phenomenon as, for example, a process, literary technique, or textual strategy.4 The benefits of such a notion of rewriting are obvious, since it allows scholars to grasp the spectrum of rewriting processes in Jewish antiquity, analyze exegetical similarities shared by different kinds of texts, and recognize continuities in the creation of new compositions. As George Brooke succinctly writes, “[p]rioritising of smaller categories at the outset tends towards asserting and prioritising difference and discontinuity.”5 To return to Stipp’s paper, his thorough analysis has demonstrated that the boundaries between the scholarly constructions of “Deuteronomistic” and “non-Deuteronomistic” are admittedly blurry. The identification of the “Deuteronomistic” units is debated because the related terminology clearly continued to be used in different ideological settings over centuries. I would like to ask, therefore, whether the conclusions derived on the basis of these observations could be the opposite. I understand very well Stipp’s point of defining the term “Deuteronomistic” in a narrow way, as well as assigning it to a specific school and to the redactional activity undertaken within that school. However, since Stipp admits that even those passages which he defines as “deutero-Jeremianic” differ “to some extent from the sort typifying the Deuteronomistic History,”6 I would like to 4  This has been argued especially by George J. Brooke. See, for example, his articles “Rewritten Bible,” in Encyclopedia of the Dead Sea Scrolls (ed. Lawrence H. Schiffman and James C. VanderKam; 2 vols.; New York: Oxford University Press, 2000), 2:777–81; and “Genre Theory, Rewritten Bible and Pesher,” DSD 17 (2010): 332–57. For another recent entry with a similar argument, see Anders Klostergaard Petersen, “The Riverrun of Rewriting Scripture: From Textual Cannibalism to Scriptural Completion,” JSJ 43 (2012): 475–96. Note also that Molly M. Zahn retains the notion of rewriting as a literary genre, but she defines it in a flexible way in her article “Genre and Rewritten Scripture: A Reassessment,” JBL 131 (2012): 271–88. Leaning on the insights of the prototype theory, Zahn remarks on how a work like Jubilees could be seen as a prototypical example of rewriting, “while texts that are less consistent in their scriptural reuse could still participate in or make use of the genre,” although “to a lesser degree” ibid., 278). 5  Brooke, “Genre Theory, Rewritten Bible and Pesher,” 341. 6  Stipp, “Formulaic Language and the Formation of the Book of Jeremiah,” 164.

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play for a moment with the idea of what would change if we conceptualized the extant data the other way around and to ponder on how a chosen model affects our views about the growth and transmission of texts and traditions in the ancient world. Stipp suggests that the label “Deuteronomistic” retains its distinctive force only if it is not used as an umbrella term. But, one could ask, is this the only way to understand distinctiveness? As mentioned above, recent scholarship has demonstrated that the concept of rewriting can also be fruitful if it is understood broadly as a literary process. Could the same apply to “Deuteronomistic”? What if we do count the Masoretic pluses among the products of the Deuteronomistic school, as one “branch” of its rich Nachleben over the centuries? Would the term lose its entire distinctiveness if the emphasis was on this kind of a creative, complex, continuing, and expansive tradition with a spectrum of sub-forms? The meaning of the term would certainly be different, but not fully nonexistent. Somewhat similarly to the view of Nicholson,7 for whom, in the words of Stipp, the “vital mechanism” affording Jeremiah its present shape was tradition rather than redaction, the label “Deuteronomistic” might designate a dynamic tradition and literary process. It included the use of certain diction and other exegetical continuities, but it allowed for considerable change and diversity; the tradition’s relevance was embodied in its constant representation and related transformation.8 I would like to end my response, therefore, with the following questions: Could one understand the designation “Deuteronomistic” as a kind of forwardmoving tradition or one of a number of “traditions as a living force” about which Gershom Scholem also writes in his illuminative essay that we read to prepare ourselves for this conference?9 In the end, is the choice of definition 7  Ernest W. Nicholson, Preaching to the Exiles: A Study of the Prose Tradition in the Book of Jeremiah (Oxford: Blackwell, 1970). 8  Compare Brooke, “Genre Theory, Rewritten Bible and Pesher,” 349, on the purpose of rewriting: “The relevance of the text is to be found in the re-presentation.” Similarly Zahn, “Genre and Rewritten Scripture: A Reassessment,” 286. 9  Gershom Scholem, “Revelation and Tradition as Religious Categories in Judaism,” in The Messianic Idea in Judaism and Other Essays on Jewish Spirituality (London: Allen & Unwin, 1971), 282–303. See, for example, Scholem’s reflections on the implications on understanding tradition as a living force, made with respect to the interpretation of the Torah (ibid., 290–91): “What had originally been believed to be consistent, unified and self-enclosed now becomes diversified, multifold, and full of contradictions. It is precisely the wealth of contradictions, of differing views, which is encompassed and unqualifiedly affirmed by tradition. . . . Thus,

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determined by what social and intellectual realities we imagine behind the concept of the Deuteronomistic school? Who is a true “adherent” of this school and how can we determine that?

tradition is concerned with the realization, the enactment of the divine task which is set in the revelation. It demands application, execution, and decision, and at the same time it is, indeed, ‘true growth and unfolding from within.’ It constitutes a living organism.”

chapter 14

Less than 300 Years. A Response to Hermann-Josef Stipp Fabian Kuhn The quintessence of Stipp’s paper can be described as follows: The formulaic language in the book of Jeremiah in most cases is not the product of a Deutronomistic redaction but a product of a tradition specific to Jeremiah that Stipp labels “Deutero-Jeremianic” because it is not bound to the traditional Deuteronomistic topics like “the importance of obedience to the Torah along with a special emphasis on the avoidance of foreign cults; the gift of the land concomitant with the danger of losing it in case of failure to comply with YHWH’s demands; and covenant theology.”1 Stipp offers Jer 24:1–10; 26:10–16; 29:16–20; and 42:10–18 as examples of this “Deutero-Jeremianic” tradition. He does not view these different texts as part of a consistent source. On the one hand, Jer 42:10–18 as the source text for the Deuteronomistic text of Jer 44:1–30, must be pre-Deuteronomistic. On the other hand, Jer 29:16–20 must be a very late text because it is not extant in the Alexandrian text tradition. So Stipp views the “Deutero-Jeremianic” tradition—consisting of and identifiable through the formulaic language, the prose speech, the topic of “Babylonian devastation” and the parenetic character of its texts2—as a productive tradition from the 6th to the 4th or even the 3th century bce, and it is only used in rare cases. When we consider the date accorded by most recent scholars to the Alexandrian translation of Jeremiah at the earliest in the middle of the 3th (or even the 2nd) century bce, 3 Stipp’s hypothesis of a more or less consistent tradition for 300 or more years that only occurs in Jeremiah becomes doubtful. 1  Hermann-Josef Stipp, “Formulaic Language and the Formation of the Book of Jeremiah,” in this volume, p. 145. 2  Stipp, “Formulaic Language.” 3  Cécile Dogniez, “Bibelübersetzungen,” in RGG (4th ed.) 1:1487–91 at 1488; Martin Karrer and Wolfgang Kraus, Septuaginta Deutsch (ed. W. Kraus, M. Karrer, Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft 2009), IX; Andreas Vonach, “Jeremia,” in Septuaginta Deutsch: Erläuterungen und Kommentare zum griechischen Alten Testament (ed. W. Kraus and M. Karrer; 2 vols.; Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft 2011), 2:2696–2814 at 2696 following Folker Siegert, Zwischen Hebräischer Bibel und Altem Testament: Eine Einführung in die Septuaginta (MJS 9;

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There are two further questions that arise. First, is some sort of canonization a requirement for the Alexandrian translation of the biblical scriptures,4 and does this process rivals preclude the existence of an exclusive Jeremianic tradition with its own writers?5 Second, does an exclusive Jeremianic tradition require its own historical location, perhaps even its own school for 300 plus years? Is this possible in a city of the size of Jerusalem in the Persian and the Ptolemaic periods?6 Because Stipp’s compilation of Jer 24:1–10; 26:10–16; 29:16–20; 42:10–18 to one tradition seems very likely in my view, we must check the dates accorded to the texts combined in Stipp’s “Deutereo-Jeremianic” tradition Münster: Lit 2001), 42; Othmar Keel, Die Geschichte Jerusalems und die Entstehung des Monotheismus (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2007), 1141. 4  A separation of the Masoretic and the Alexandrian textual traditions before the translation from Hebrew to Greek in the Alexandrian text is, in light of 4Q71 (4QJerb), possible. However, this small manuscript containing parts of Jer 9:22–10:18 not enough to support the proposition of a new date for such a separation because its belonging to the Alexandrian Tradition only verifies ex negative. The largest part of the lines is not preserved. In Jer 10 the manuscript is familiar with some words or parts of them from vv.2, 4, 9, 11, 13, 15, 18, 20 (Eugene Charles Ulrich, The Biblical Qumran Scrolls [VTSup 134; Leiden: Brill, 2010], 562–63). Many scholars suppose that this arrangement of verses is based on the Alexandrian tradition, which in familiar with a different arrangement of verses than the Masoretic text (vv.1–5a, 9, 5b, 11–25). But to construe such an extensive consequence like this from a gap is not convincing (see Georg Fischer, Jeremia 1–25 [HThKAT; Freiburg: Herder, 2005], 40–41; Vonach, “Jeremia,” 2755–56). 5  Stipp never makes this exact claim, but there are no traces of the so called “DeuteroJeremianic” tradition in other biblical scriptures. Therefore, we must still suppose, that the “Deutero-Jeremainic” tradition occurs exclusively in the book of Jeremiah. If we consider this, Stipp’s conclusion, “we have to conclude that the Deutero-Jeremianic vocabulary was kept in use over several centuries and by authors from widely divergent ideological settings,” is too complete given its suggestion of the exclusive usage of this vocabulary in the book of Jeremiah. 6  See Keel, Geschichte Jerusalems, 953, who argues there were about 3,000 inhabitants in the region of Jerusalem and 1,500 in the city itself during the Persian period. See also Angelika Berlejung “Geschichte und Religionsgeschichte ‘Israels’: Historischer Abriss,” in Grundinformation Altes Testament (ed. Jan Christian Gertz; 3d. ed.; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2009), 89–192 at 160, who concludes there were about 13,000 inhabitants for the whole province of Yehud in the first part of the Persian period and 25,000 inhabitants during the second part. If we now reflect that probably only a few of all the inhabitants were able to read the biblical documents, we must think about a small, privileged group that was responsible for the composition and conservation of the biblical tradition. This argument decreases the possibility of an independent tradition or school existing over several hundred years and conserving the special—the so called “Deutero-Jeremianic”—usage of the language.

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rather than the significance of the assumption itself. I see two main questions at the margins of Stipp’s hypothesis. First, is Jer 29:16–20 an addition that was created after the separation of the Alexandrian translation? Second, were the two texts of Jer 26:1–9, 17–23; 44:1–30—which Stipp interprets as Deuteronomistic—composed in the 6th century bce, or are they a product of a later period? The reason for the second question arises from Stipp’s paper. He describes the Deuteronomistic category in the book of Jeremiah as a subcategory of “Deutero-Jeremianic,” and he differentiates between “Jeremianic Deuteronomists” and “Deuteronomistic History” because of the missing reference to the centralization of the sacrificial cult.7 This basis for the separation between these two categories arises from historical reflection. I will try to answer these queries, although I know that my suggested answers will not be sufficient to explain completely the historical background of the so called “Deutero-Jeremianic” texts. First, in their actual location in Jer 29, verses 16–20 are hardly linked with their context because they are addressed to other receivers than their context (people deported in 597 bce and residents of Judah after the first deportation), and they do not allude to exactly the same topic (false prophecy only appears in the Dtr section). The question about vv. 16–20 and the reason why these verses do not appear in the Alexandrian translation is not easy to answer. The main argument for a late insertion after the separation of the Alexandrian text is—beside the text-critical fact—that many expressions in these five verses are interpreted as signs of the Masoretic—“Sondergut,” or what Stipp calls the “pre-Masoretic idiolect” in Jeremiah. So the juxtaposition of Babylon and Jerusalem is missing from the Alexandrian texts, at least those of the book of Jeremiah (Jer 34:15, 17 LXX [= Jer 27:18, 20 MT]; Jer 36:1, 4 LXX [= Jer 29:1, 4 MT]). To the other two elements interpreted Stipp as a sign of a late language in vv. 16–20, I have several comments. First, the word ‫ אלה‬is translated in Jer 42:18 MT = 49:18 LXX with the Greek word ἀρά—comparable with its occurrences in the Torah—and in Jer 44:12 MT = 51:12 LXX with ὀνειδισμός.8 But in the second case, the differences between MT and LXX are extensive, so we should regard this example with suspicion. Also the idea of “dispersion among all the nations” occurs one time in the Greek text (Jer 46:28 MT = 26:28 LXX), translated by the verb ἐξωθέω. Furthermore, the use of this idea in the Masoretic text is inconsistent. Some of the appearances of the term have the persons affected 7  Stipp, “Formulaic Language”, p. 164. 8  Normally ὀνειδισμός is used in Jeremiah for the translation of ‫( חרפה‬Jer 6:10; 15:15; 20:8; 23:40; 24:9; [25:9]; 31:19 MT = 38:19 LXX; 42:18 MT = 49:18 LXX; 44:8 MT = 51:8 LXX; 49:13 MT = 30:7 LXX; 51:51 MT = 28:51 LXX) or ‫( אף‬Jer 12:13).

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by this “worldwide” dispersion anticipating salvation (Jer 29:14; 30:11; 46:28). In other texts the persons concerned anticipate harm (Jer 29:18; 43:5). Two arguments support the secondary omission of vv. 16–20 from the Alexandrian translation. Verses 15 and 20 end with the word ‫בבלה‬. So parablepsis seems possible.9 If we date vv. 16–20 to the Ptolemaic period, the reason for the insertion of vv. 16–20 is not evident. The accentuation of the verdict upon the residents in Judah under Zedekiah after the first exile seems to belong to a time when the descendants of the group exiled in 597 bce had to enforce their claims. In my view, a final conclusion about whether vv. 16–20 were added to their current context before or after the Alexandrian translation cannot be reached from the arguments available in present scholarship. Second, Stipp has shown convincingly that the formulaic language in Jer 26 is not a later addition, but part of the original text. Equally convincing is his interpretation of vv. 10–16 as a later addition. The undeclared double aboutface of “all the people” (vv. 8, 11, 16, 24), the doubled acquittal (vv. 16, 19) and the competition between the patriarchs and the elders about the responsibility to judge Jeremiah (vv. 16, 17) are strong arguments for this view. I will therefore focus on Jer 26:1–9, 17–19. The language and the themes of these verses are closer to Deuteronomistic tradition than the texts Stipp assigns as “Deutero-Jeremianic.” We see this in the reference to the Torah, the depreciative reaction of the people as well as in expressions like ‫) מדרך הרעה‬. . .( ‫שוב‬ (turn [. . .] from the evil way [NRSV];10 Jer 26:3),11 ‫ר ַֹע מעלל‬/‫( ַרע‬evil doing; Jer 26:3; 44:2)12 and others.13 However, with regard to content, Jer 26:1–9, 17–19 are not clearly Deuteronomistic because the general situation pitting one prophet (Jeremiah) against godless priests and prophets is even not justified by the law of the Deuteronomy (Deut 17:12),14 and the subsequent subject of killing a prophet only links back to the pursuit of Elijah by Jezebel, not to Deuteronomy itself. I am not sure how to evaluate this. Perhaps it is easier to date the Deuteronomistic influence on Jeremiah to a later time, more distant from the Deuteronomy and Dtr traditions. Then the comparable language could also be chosen as a result of the same topic—the exile. In Deuteronomy it appears as 9   Stipp, Formulaic Language, p. 155. 10  All citations are out of the NRSV. Variations are mentioned separately. 11  ‫ה‬  ‫) מדרך הרע‬. . .( ‫שוב‬: 1 Kgs 13:33; 2 Kgs 17:13; Jer 18:11; 23:22; 25:5; 26:3; 35:15; 36:3, 7; Ezek 13:22; 33:11; Jonah 3:8, 10; Zech 1:4; 2Chr 7:14. 12   ‫ר ַֹע מעלל‬/‫ ַרע‬: Deut 28:20; 1Sam 25:3; Isa 1:16; Jer 4:4; 18:11; 21:12; 23:2, 22; 25:5; 26:3(; 35:15); 44:2; Ezek 36:31; Hos 9:15; Zech 1:4; Neh 9:35; Ps 28:4. 13  See footnotes 16–18, 20. 14  “As for anyone who presumes to disobey the priest appointed to minister there to the Lord your God, or the judge, that person shall die. So you shall purge the evil from Israel.” (Deut 17:12).

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a preview and in Jeremiah as a review. The first third of the 5th century seems possible to me, as Levin suggested almost thirty years ago.15 Jer 44 is strongly linked to Jer 26:1–9, 17–19. Some phrases and expressions are undoubtedly familiar with Dtr tradition. These include ‫תורה אשר נתן פנה‬ (law that I set before you; Jer 26:4; 44:10),16 ‫( כל גויי הארץ‬all the nations of the earth; Jer 26:6; 44:8),17 ‫[( קללה‬make a] curse; Jer 26:6; 44:8, 12, 22),18 ‫( קטר‬to burn incense [KJV]; Jer 44:3, 5, 8, 15, 17–19, 21, 23, 25) for foreign gods,19 ‫רעה אשר‬ ‫( עשה‬wickedness that they committed; Jer 44:3),20 ‫ שנא‬+ ‫( תועבה‬hate & abominable thing; Jer 44:4),21 and ‫ אף‬+ ‫( חמה‬wrath & anger; Jer 44:6).22 However, a considerable part of the terminology in Jer 44 is specific to Jeremiah, and also frequently appears in Jer 26, for example: ‫( עשה רעה גדולה על־נפשותינו‬to bring great disaster on ourselves; Jer 26:19; 44:7),23 ‫ חרב‬/ ‫ רעב‬/ ‫( דבר‬sword / famine / pestilence; Jer 44:13),24 ‫ אלה‬/ ‫ שמה‬/ ‫ קללה‬/ ‫( חרפה‬execration / horror / cursing / ridicule; Jer 44:12),25 (‫( מלכת )השמים‬queen of heaven; Jer 44:17–19, 25), and ‫( לא שמע ולא נטה אזן‬did not listen or incline their ear; Jer 44:5),26 or at least unknown in the Dtr literature as ‫( חרפה‬ridicule; Jer 44:8),27 ‫( עלה על לב‬come

15  Christoph Levin, Die Verheißung des neuen Bundes: in ihrem theologiegeschichtlichen Zusammenhang ausgelegt (FRLANT 137; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1985), 195–96. 16   ‫תורה אשר נתן פנה‬: Deut 4:8; Jer 9:12; 26:4; 44:10; Dan 9:10. 17   ‫כל גויי הארץ‬: Gen 18:18; 22:18; 26:4; Deut 28:1; Jer 26:6; 33:9; 44:8; Zech 12:3; (2 Chr 32:13). 18  ‫קללה‬: 33x => 2x Gen 27; 11x Deut; 1x Josh; 1x Judg; 1x 2Sam; 1x 1 Kgs; 1x 2 Kgs; 1x Neh; 2x Ps 109; 2x Prov; 9x Jer 24:9; 25:18; 26:6; 29:22; 42:18; 44:8, 12, 22; 49:13; 1x Zech. 19  Delicate smoke ceremony (‫)קטר‬: 1 Kgs 3:3; 12:33; 13:1, 2; 22:44; 2 Kgs 12:4; 14:4; 15:4, 35; 16:4; 17:11; 18:4; 2 Chr 28:3–4; Isa 65:3, 7; Hos 4:13; Amos 4:5; Hab 1:16; . . . in favor of foreign gods: 1 Kgs 11:8; 2 Kgs 16:13, 15; 22:17; 23:5, 8; 2 Chr 25:14; 28:25; 34:25 (Q); Jer 1:16; 7:9; 11:12, 13, 17; 18:15; 19:4, 13; 32:29; 44:3, 5, 8, 15, 17–19, 21, 23, 25; 48:35; Hos 2:15; 11:2. 20   ‫רעה אשר עשה‬: Exod 32:14; Deut 31:18; 1 Kgs 2:44; 16:7; Jer 18:8; 26:3; 36:3; 41:11; 42:10; 44:3; 51:24; Ezek 6:9; 20:43; Jonah 3:10; Neh 13:7. 21  ‫ שנא‬+ ‫תועבה‬: Deut 12:31; Jer 44:4. 22  ‫ אף‬+ ‫חמה‬: Deut 9:19; 29:22; Isa 42:25; 66:15; Jer 7:20; 21:5; 32:31, 37; 33:5; 36:7; 42:18; 44:6; Ezek 5:13, 15; 22:20; 23:25; 25:14; 38:18; Mic 5:14; Nah 1:6; Ps (37:8;) 90:7; Prov 27:4; Dan 9:16; cf. also ‫כעס‬. 23   ‫עשה רעה גדולה על־נפשותינו‬: Jer 26:19; 44:7; 42:20 LXX. 24  ‫ חרב‬/ ‫ רעב‬/ ‫דבר‬: Jer 14:12; 21:7, 9; 24:10; 27:8, 13; 29:17, 18; 32:24, 36; 34:17; 38:2; 42:17, 22; 44:13; Ezek 6:11; 7:15; 12:16; 14:21; 2 Chr 20:9. 25  ‫ אלה‬/ ‫ ׁשמה‬/ ‫ קללה‬/ ‫חרפה‬: Jer (29:18;) 42:18; 44:12. 26   ‫לא שמע שמע לא נטה אזן‬: Jer 7:24, 26; 11:8; 17:23; 25:4; 34:14; 44:5. 27   ‫חרפה‬: 73x = 2x Gen; 1x Josh; 3x 1 Sam; 1x 2 Sam; 4x Neh; 2x Job; 20x Ps; 2x Prov; 6x Isa; 12x Jer 6:10; 15:15; 20:8; 23:40; 24:9; 29:18; 31:19; 42:18; 44:8, 12; 49:13; 51:51; 3x Lam; 7x Ezek; 3x Dan; 1x Hos; 2x Jonah; 1x Mic; 2x Zeph.

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into mind; Jer 44:21),28 ‫( שארית יהודה‬remnant of Judah; Jer 44:[7,] 12, 14, 28),29 and ‫ תורה‬/ ‫ ו‬/ ‫( חקה‬law / and / statutes; Jer 44:10, 13).30 So we must consider the fact that some expressions in Jer 44 often declared to be “Deuteronomistic” are completely unknown in the Bible outside of these texts in the book of Jeremiah. We see as well, that the formative Dtr language is not a relic from an ancient period but was even added after the separation of the Alexandrian text—probably apparent in the case of ‫ בתורתי‬in Jer 44:10 MT.31 Beside the links to the rest of the book of Jeremiah, there is also a historical argument that makes the composition of Jer 44 in the 6th century bce implausible. Jeremiah 44:2 is aware that all Judean cities are abandoned and without inhabitants. This contradicts the archeological conclusions for Judah in the Babylonian period. In my view it is implausible that this—historically speaking—incorrect information, was added during or shortly after the exile.32 This kind of historical revisionism probably requires a period of separation. Levin suggests that this reworking is the result of a romanticization by the descendants of the Babylonian Golah in the 5th century bce,33 when the historical facts were no longer known as precisely. In my view, Stipp’s hypothesis that the formulaic language in the book of Jeremiah leads us back to a separate milieu of redactors is likely. And when we see that it is not necessary to except at least 300 or more years between the earliest and the latest texts, his hypothesis becomes even more probable.

28   ‫עלה על לב‬: 2 Kgs 12:5; Isa 65:17; Jer 3:16; 7:31; 19:5; 32:35; 44:21. 29   ‫שארית יהודה‬: (Isa 37:32; 46:3;) Jer (6:9; 8:3; 23:3; 24:8; 31:7;) 40:11, 15(; 41:10, 16); 42:(2,) 15, 19; 43:5; 44:(7,) 12, 14, 28(; Ezek 5:10; 9:8; 11:13; Am 5:15; Mic 2:12; 5:6, 7; 7:18); Zeph 2:7(, 9; 3:13; Hag 1:12; 2:2; Zech 8:6, 11, 12). 30   ‫ תורה‬/ ‫ ו‬/ ‫חקה‬: Jer 44:10, 23; Ezek 44:24. 31   L XX* = τῶν προσταγμάτων μου = ‫ בחקת‬instead of ‫בתורתי ובחקתי‬ MT. 32  Another handling with these conflict we see for example in Ezek 33:24. A verse which denies the claim of the people, who lived still in the land of Judah, on their homeland. 33  Levin, Verheißung, 167, 196.

chapter 15

Why Jeremiah? The Invention of a Prophetic Figure Reinhard G. Kratz* Hermann Spieckermann zum Fünfundsechzigsten 1

Why not Jeremiah? A copy of a letter that Ieremias sent to those who would be led as captives into Babylon by the king of the Babylonians to proclaim to them just as it was commanded to him by God: 1 On account of the sins that you have sinned against God, you will be led into Babylon as captives by Nebuchadnezzar, king of the Babylonians. 2 When, therefore, you come into Babylon, you will be there for rather many years, even for a long time, as long as seven generations. But after this, I will bring you from there with peace. 3 Now then, you will see in Babylon silver and gold and wooden gods being carried upon shoulders causing fear to the nations. 4 Beware, therefore, lest you too, having been made like the foreigners, become like them and be afraid of them 5 when you see a crowd before and behind them worshipping them, but say to yourselves, “We must worship you, O Lord.” 6 For my angel is with you, and he is caring for your souls. (Letter of Ieremias superscription + vv. 1–6, translation according to NETS with slight changes).

This is a letter from the prophet Jeremiah, found among the Jeremianic writings. The letter reminds us of other letters written by the prophet Jeremiah and attested in Jer 29. However, this letter usually is deemed to be post-Jeremianic by scholars (and also by me in my commentary in the ATD series)1 and so, in other words, fictitious. But why? Let us first follow the usual argument of Old

*  English Translation: Ruth Ludewig-Welch (Göttingen). This manuscript was completed and submitted to the editors in May 2015. 1  Reinhard G. Kratz, “Der Brief des Jeremia, übersetzt und erklärt,” in Das Buch Baruch, Der Brief des Jeremia, Zu Ester und Daniel (ed. Odil H. Steck, Reinhard G. Kratz, Ingo Kottsieper; ATD.A 5; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1998), 69–108.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���7 | doi ��.��63/9789004320253_016

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Testament scholarship as if we were dealing with a text from the biblical book of Jeremiah here. In its entirety, the letter of Jeremiah is preserved in Greek only as chapter 6 of the apocryphal book of Baruch and also in diverse daughter translations of the Septuagint. Furthermore, the evidence from Qumran, fragment 7Q2, which contains traits of verses 43–44, is in Greek. Yet Semitisms in the text and, in particular, two translation errors lead to the conclusion that the letter was originally written in Hebrew or Aramaic: In v. 30 we read: “And in their houses the priests ‘travel’ or ‘make a journey with a wagon’ (διφρεύουσιν) with their tunics torn and their heads and beards shaven, whose heads are uncovered, and they roar and cry before their gods, as a man does at the feast when one is dead.” The verb διφρεύουσιν, “travel with a wagon,” is obviously out of place here. It seems to be the rendering of a form of the root ‫נהג‬, which means “to drive, lead, make a journey with a wagon,” but also “to groan, cry” (in Nah 2:8), and this meaning fits the scene. The second example is v. 71 where we read: “And from the purple and the marble (ἀπὸ τε τῆς πορφύρας καὶ τῆς μαρμάρου) that rots upon them you will know that they are not gods.” “Marble,” which does not rot, seems to be the rendering of the word ‫ ;שש‬however the same root means also “byssus, linen,” which, again, fits much better the context. Thus, the original language of the letter probably was Hebrew or Aramaic, both of which Jeremiah was familiar with according to the book of Jeremiah (taking the Aramaic verse in Jer 10:11 into account). Not only the language, but also the theology of the letter is Jeremianic: the fact that the people must go into Babylonian exile because of their sins is made clear again and again from the beginning to the end of the biblical book of Jeremiah. The formulation of our letter particularly recalls Jer 16:10–12: And when you announce all these things to that people, and they ask you, “Why has the Lord decreed upon us all this fearful evil? What is the iniquity and what the sin that we have committed against the Lord our God?” say to them, “Because your fathers deserted Me—declares the Lord— and followed other gods and served them and worshiped them . . . And you have acted worse than your fathers.” (Translation according to NJPS) The prophet Jeremiah is fully aware of the fact that the exiles in Babylon were still in danger of worshipping other gods. Thus, he not only accuses God’s people in his book and impresses the first commandment on them, but he also solemnly cautions them against the gods of the people in the foreign country. This can be found in Jer 16:13:

Why Jeremiah ?

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Therefore, I will hurl you out of this land to a land that neither you nor your fathers have known, and there you will serve other gods, day and night; for I will show you no mercy. (NJPS) Another example is Jer 10:2–15 (and 51:15–19): Thus said the Lord: Do not learn to go the way of the nations, and do not be dismayed by portents in the sky; let the nations be dismayed by them for the laws of the nations are delusions: For it is a work of a craftsman’s hands. He cuts down a tree in the forest with an ax, he adorns it with silver and gold, he fastens it with nails and hammer, so that it does not totter. (Jer 10:2–4, NJPS; see the continuation of the theme until 10:15) The motto is the same in both writings: “Be not afraid of them, for they can do no harm; nor is it in them to do any good. O Lord, there is none like You.” (Jer 10:5–6; cf. Ep Jer 14, 22, 28, etc.). Furthermore, the historical circumstances reflected in our letter perfectly match the personal circumstances of the prophet Jeremiah as we know them from the biblical book of Jeremiah. We are situated immediately before the (first) departure into the Babylonian exile in 597 bce, the moment when Jeremiah—against the words of false prophets such as Hananiah (Jer 27–28)— had called for submission to Babylon and Nebuchadnezzar. The historical or biographical background of the letter could be the release of Jeremiah, which is reported in Jer 40, and his decision not to go to Babylon with the others, but to remain in the land at the governor’s side. In line with the later writings of the prophet to the Golah in Babylon in Jer 29, the duration of exile is also limited here to 7 generations (70 years in Jer 29:10, 25:11–12) and “a long time” (as in Jer 29:28). At the same time the return is prophesised in Jer 29 as it is also promised in Jer 16 (vv. 14–15)—after the caution against idolatry. The prophet therefore exhorts the exiles before their journey to Babylon neither to fear the gods of the people nor to worship them. It is only on that condition that he can advise them in a later letter in Jer 29 to settle in Babylon, build houses, start families and pray for the city of Babylon. The only thing that could cast doubt on the authenticity of the letter is the fact that Jeremiah is rather familiar with the statues of Babylonian gods, their production, and the forms of their worship, even though he had never been in Babylon. However, just as we usually presume that the great “classical” biblical prophets at the end of the 8th century (Amos and Isaiah) had some knowledge of neo-Assyrian circumstances or even written documents, we may also presume that the prophet Jeremiah, at the end of the 6th century, was familiar

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with neo-Babylonian circumstances. Judging from their books the prophets were extremely well-educated people who closely followed current events. So one may conclude that either they had a special sense of the current and future developments in world politics, or in some mysterious way they sensed what was in store for Israel and Judah. Finally, Jeremiah could have been easily informed by royal (Judean or Babylonian) messengers who were in close contact at least since the time of king Hezekiah according to the scriptures (2 Kgs 20// Isa 39; 2 Chr 32:31). After all, the question arises: Why do scholars dismiss Jeremiah’s letter as being post-Jeremianic and fictitious? Why is it not treated as authentic and as a welcomed additional source on the life and work of the historical prophet? The question—especially coming from me—may seem strange, if not even absurd. And yet I am being perfectly serious—at least in respect to the methodological problem behind this question. In fact, the letter is declared to be post-Jeremianic, fictitious, apocryphal, or deuterocanonical by the same scholars who find the historical Jeremiah at work for long sections of the Hebrew or Greek books of Jeremiah. While they dismiss the letter as being pseudoprophetic, they expend considerable effort to prove the authenticity and historicity of the canonical book. Almost the same arguments used above to suggest the authenticity of the Greek Letter of Ieremias usually are put forward for the authenticity of the oracles of the biblical prophets and even for the biblical narratives of the prophets. Of course, scholars readily admit that the transmitted written version of the oracles and narratives have originated from anonymous writers (usually called the prophet’s disciples). Yet in substance, it is understood that there is no doubt about the authenticity. The pattern of argument is obvious, for example, in the treatment of Jer 1 by Klaus Seybold in his book Der Prophet Jeremia: Leben und Werk from 1993.2 Having demonstrated that the portrayal of Jeremiah in Jer 1 is full of literary and theological topoi and having stated that it is a “concentrate of later interpretation and perspective,” Seybold continues: But the unavoidable question that arises is: Is this late presentation also a reproduction of Jeremiah’s human traits or is it all just a construction from the perspective of a theological assessment? We can assume from the start that these sorts of texts, despite all “legend-building,” integrated biographical-historical features as much as they were known, since the entire tradition of the book testifies that one collected and handed 2  Klaus Seybold, Der Prophet Jeremia: Leben und Werk (UTB 416; Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1993).

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down whatever was available to collect and hand down. Jer 1 does not contradict the portrayal of Jeremiah, which is contained in the book as a whole. Thus, some elements can be recognized which surely come from Jeremiah’s life according to the tradition as a whole.3 The same is true of our letter from Jeremiah. Obviously, it does not “contradict the portrayal of Jeremiah which is contained in the book as a whole.” Why then should it not allow “some elements [to] be recognized which surely come from Jeremiah’s life according to the tradition as a whole”? Another example for the usual pattern of argumentation is the motif of the suffering prophet who was rejected and persecuted by his contemporaries, and even by his own family—a motif which is also very prominent in the book of Jeremiah. On this matter, Jörg Jeremias, the undisputed authority in the field of prophetic studies, has recently published an article in the renowned scholarly journal ZAW.4 He does not even bother to make the effort to give the impression that he is making a historical-critical argument, but just contents himself with the reference to the wording of (Holy) Scripture. So why should we doubt the authenticity of a relevant statement concerning the fate of the prophet, if this statement “is documented in the same way either directly (Hos 9:7–9; Amos 7:10–17; Mic 2:6–7, et al.) or indirectly in the shaping of the prophet’s words, whose wording (i.e., the biblical text) already refers to prior rejection at the stage of oral proclamation”?5 Both the Greek Letter of Ieremias and the book of Jeremiah also “directly and indirectly” document that the prophet wrote letters to the exiles just before and after their departure to Babylon, and the 3  Ibid., 42: “Doch drängt sich die Frage unabweisbar auf: Ist diese späte Darstellung auch Wiedergabe der menschlichen Züge Jeremias, oder ist alles daran Konstrukt aus theologischer Einschätzung? Es ist bei derartigen Texten eigentlich von vornherein anzunehmen, daß sie bei aller ‘Legendenbildung’ biographisch-historische Züge, soweit noch bekannt, verarbeitet haben, wie ja auch die Gesamtüberlieferung des Buches bezeugt, daß man gesammelt und tradiert hat, was noch zu sammeln und zu tradieren war. Auch Jer 1 widerspricht nicht dem im Gesamtbuch hervortretenden Jeremia-Bild. So lassen sich einige Elemente im Porträt erkennen, welche nach Ausweis der Gesamtüberlieferung doch wohl aus Jeremias Leben stammen.” 4  Jörg Jeremias, “Das Rätsel der Schriftprophetie,” ZAW 125 (2013): 93–117. 5  Ibid., 104; the full quotation is as follows: “Bei der Ablehnung der Gerichtspropheten handelt es sich keineswegs um einen literarischen Topos’ oder . . . um ein ‘Motiv’, die in wiederholter Begrifflichkeit und Fügung begegnen würden, sondern um einen Sachverhalt, der, wie wir sahen, in gleicher Weise direkt (Hos 9,7–9; Am 7,10–17; Mi 2,6f. u.ö.) wie indirekt in der Gestaltung der Prophetenworte belegt ist, deren Wortlaut schon auf die vorausgehende Abweisung im Stadium der mündlichen Verkündigung verweist.”

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wording of the Letter “directly and indirectly” says that it was written already during the prophet’s lifetime. Why, then, should we modern scholars doubt its authenticity? Following the line of Seybold’s and Jeremias’ argumentation, the Greek Letter of Ieremias should be considered as authentic. We realize that we are still haunted by the 19th century. Whether for reasons of historical naiveté, or of apologetics, critical scholarship hangs on to the person of the prophet with a desperate tenacity up to the present day. We have gotten used to keeping to what Joseph Blenkinsopp calls the “course between naive optimism and out-and-out scepticism.”6 With all sorts of historicalcritical sophistication or finesse we make an historical prophet out of the biblical one. This is somehow astonishing and different compared to other biblical figures. The historical Moses, for instance, who incorporates the law, has been dropped by—Christian-dominated—scholarship without any hesitation or difficulty. With the prophets, however, many scholars struggle. The reason for this is, I suppose, that the prophets are (wrongly) seen as precursors of Jesus Christ, which, in fact, is a misunderstanding, at least if Julius Wellhausen is right who saw the prophets as the “founders of the religion of law and not the precursors of the gospel.”7 Using the Letter of Ieremias as an example, I wanted to demonstrate on what thin ice the assumption of the historicity or authenticity of the biblical prophet stands. Using the same circular arguments, unquestioned assumptions, and biographical-historical speculation commonly deployed to prove the authenticity of the biblical prophets and their oracles, the apocryphal Letter of Ieremias can also be declared authentic. We are dealing here with the invention of the prophetic figure by means of modern scholarship. The historical-critical reasoning is, to all intents and purposes, a mere smokescreen to hide the very different aesthetic, or even religious presuppositions and judgements of the exegete.

6  Joseph Blenkinsopp, A History of Prophecy in Israel (Rev. and enl.; Louisville: John Knox Press, 1996) 138; the full quotation is as follows: “If the Deuteronomistic portrait of Jeremiah dominates in the book, the question arises whether we can recover anything of Jeremiah’s real likeness by dint of painstaking work of restoration. Here as elsewhere we are dealing in probabilities at best, and perhaps our safest plan is to steer a course between naive optimism and out-and-out scepticism.” 7  Julius Wellhausen, Israelitische und jüdische Geschichte (7th ed.; Berlin: Reimer, 1914; repr. 10th ed.; Berlin: de Gruyter, 2004), 110: “sie (i.e. the prophets) sind die Begründer der Religion des Gesetzes, nicht die Vorläufer des Evangeliums.”

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The Portrait of Jeremiah in the Jeremianic Literature

The question that now arises is: has this ever been otherwise? Can we reach back behind the invention of the prophetical figure of Jeremiah in historicalcritical research? The question has to be put to the book of Jeremiah itself and to the Jeremianic literature. Following Hindy Najman and her groundbreaking work on Friedrich Nietzsche’s inaugural speech in Basel from 1869 and its implications for biblical studies,8 my feeling is that with Jeremiah and the prophets we face the same problem that 19th century scholars faced with Homer and, actually, still face today. In other words: the “Homeric question” and the “Jeremianic question” are basically the same. Nietzsche in his inaugural speech put this question in a nutshell.9 He, too, reaches back to antiquity when he traces a line from the modern Homer critic Friedrich August Wolf to the savant legend taught by Alexandrian grammarians. This legend says that Homer was handed down in the oral tradition for some time before the work was recorded—if not literally, then at least authentic in substance—by a poet in the age of Pisistratus (6th and 5th centuries bce). Nietzsche comments: Let us imagine ourselves as living in the time of Pisistratus: the word ‘Homer’ then comprehended an abundance of dissimilarities. What was meant by ‘Homer’ at that time? It is evident that that generation found itself unable to grasp a personality and the limits of its manifestations. Homer had now become of small consequence. And then we meet with the weighty question: What lies before this period? Has Homer’s personality, because it cannot be grasped, gradually faded away into an empty name? Or had all the Homeric poems been gathered together in a body, 8 See, e.g., Hindy Najman, “Configuring the Text in Biblical Studies,” in A Teacher for all Generations: Essays in Honor of James C. VanderKam (vol. 1; ed. Eric F. Mason et al.; JSJSup 153/1; Leiden: Brill, 2012), 3–22; eadem, “Traditionary Processes and Textual Unity in 4Ezra,” in Fourth Ezra and Second Baruch: Reconstruction after the Fall (ed. Matthias Henze and Gabriele Boccaccini; JSJSup 164; Leiden: Brill, 2013), 99–117; eadem, Losing the Temple and Recovering the Future: An Analysis of 4 Ezra (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2014), 40–47. 9  Friedrich Nietzsche, “Homer und die Klassische Philologie: Ein Vortrag,” in Friedrich Nietzsche Werke (vol. 3; ed. Karl Schlechta; Lizensausgabe für die Mitglieder der Wissenschaftlichen Buchgesellschaft der 2. durchgesehenen Ausgabe; Munich: Carl Hanser, 1958), 155–74; English translation: Friedrich Nietzsche, “Homer and Classical Philology (Inaugural Address delivered at Bale University, 28th of May, 1869),” in The Complete Works of Friedrich Nietzsche (vol. 3; ed. O. Levy; transl. by J. MacFarland; Edinburgh and London: T. N. Foulis, 1910), 145–70.

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the nation naively representing itself by the figure of Homer? Was the person created out of a conception, or the conception out of a person? This is the real ‘Homeric question,’ the central problem of the personality.10 Likewise, we must also ask what came before the legend of the Jeremianic authorship of the literature ascribed to him or to Baruch, his disciple and scribe: was “the person created out of a conception, or the conception out of a person”? If I am right, then our understanding of the biblical prophets depends entirely on this very fundamental question. Much like Homer, the author of the Iliad and the Odyssey, who already in antiquity became the author of the so-called Homeric hymns and many other works, Jeremiah, or his scribe Baruch, has become the author of a widely ramified literature. One can mention here the placement of Lamentations in the Septuagint among the Jeremianic compositions as well as various books of Baruch (the apocryphal Baruch or 1 Baruch, the Syrian and the Greek Baruch-Apocalypses counted as 2 and 3 Baruch, the Paralipomena of Baruch or 4 Baruch) and the Jeremiah-Apocrypha from Qumran—in short: the whole range of writings discussed in this volume. All these writings not only make use of the name of the prophet Jeremiah and his disciple Baruch, but also presuppose the historical setting of the prophet for their historical fiction and the wording of his book in their own formulations. Here, the book of Jeremiah is taken up and explained, whereby the relationship, in most cases, is more than a formal one. Let us take the example of the Letter of Ieremias again. Its exposition grows out of formulations taken from chapters Jer 10, 16, and 29. However, not only the formulations are taken up. Rather, the Letter writes itself into the book of Jeremiah

10  Nietzsche, “Homer and Classical Philology,” 155; German original in Nietzsche, “Homer und die Klassische Philologie,” 164: “Versetzen wir uns in das Zeitalter des Pisistratus: so umschloß damals das Wort ‘Homer’ eine Fülle des Ungleichartigsten. Was bedeutete damals Homer? Offenbar fühlte sich jenes Zeitalter außerstande, eine Persönlichkeit und die Grenzen ihrer Äußerungen wissenschaftlich zu umspannen. Homer war hier fast zu einer leeren Hülse geworden. Hier tritt nun die wichtige Frage an uns heran: was liegt vor dieser Periode? Ist die Persönlichkeit Homers, weil man sie nicht fassen konnte, allmählich zu einem leeren Namen verdunstet? Oder hat man damals in naiver Volksweise die gesamte heroische Dichtung verkörpert und sich unter der Figur Homers veranschaulicht? Ist somit aus einer Person ein Begriff oder aus einem Begriff eine Person gemacht worden? Dies ist die eigentliche ‘homerische Frage’, jenes zentrale Persönlichkeitsproblem.”

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without, however, being part of the book.11 In the prophet’s biography, the learned reader is expected to place it between the harsh sermons in Jer 10 and 16, on the one hand, and the letter to the Babylonian Golah in Jer 29, on the other hand. The work is effectively a supplementation or Fortschreibung of the book of Jeremiah outside the book. The term “Paralipomena,” which has been adopted for 4 Baruch, also applies to the Letter of Ieremias: it is a further letter alongside the correspondence in Jer 29, which was written by the prophet Jeremiah himself. Why do all these writings choose Jeremiah’s name, and why do they make use of his book? The most obvious answer is: because the biblical Jeremiah, the prophet of the biblical book, already enjoyed canonical or at least an authoritative status, and the more recent writings wanted to legitimize themselves through the use of his name and tradition. But is that all, is this really true? If this was the case, we would have to assume an idea of canon, which did not exist then. Furthermore, we would have to assume an awareness of the distance between later authors and Jeremiah that the epigones wanted to bridge or conceal by using the technique of pseudepigraphy. In this case a conception of prophecy would have emanated from the person of the biblical Jeremiah, which could be used by future generations as and when desired. However, what would it be like if people did not sense this distance, or if the distinction between biblical and non-biblical, canonical and non-canonical literature did not yet exist? How would it be if, instead of a conception being formed out of a person, the person were created out of the conception of biblical prophecy and the biblical tradition? A person who did not belong to the past and is long dead, but first comes into being and is brought to life more and more through the production of later writings? In other words: the more writings bear Jeremiah’s or Baruch’s name, the more vividly we visualize the person of the prophet as a herald of God’s word and the more alive he becomes. The authors of the para-biblical Jeremiah and Baruch writings do not hide behind Jeremiah’s name, but they create Jeremiah in order to let him speak and proclaim God’s word. To me, there is only one logical consequence: What is true for parabiblical writings should equally be true at an earlier point in time for the biblical book of Jeremiah itself, or indeed for both versions of the book of Jeremiah. If we take the textual situation seriously, then there was not just one text of the book of Jeremiah, but at least two editions of the book. I do not know how we 11  See, Reinhard G. Kratz, “Die Rezeption von Jeremia 10 und 29 im pseudepigraphen Brief des Jeremia,” JSJ 26 (1995): 2–31; idem, Der Brief des Jeremia.

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should explain the relationship between these two versions and their emergence. For this question we have to ask our expert in this field, Hermann Josef Stipp, who also contributed to this volume.12 What matters to me, however, is something else. From the evidence of Qumran, it is quite clear that both versions of the book of Jeremiah have Hebrew originals and were transmitted in parallel. They were apparently regarded as being equally authoritative. While this is exciting and thrilling for us as text and literary critics because we have before us the rare case of external evidence for the process of textual and literary growth, the existence of two editions was apparently of no interest to the scribes and readers in antiquity. At least not until Origen, who began to record the versions systematically and compare them with each other. By the way, the same situation can also be observed with the differing manuscripts of Serek Hayaḥad, a comparatively late work of the Qumran community.13 The plurality of textual tradition was not apparently regarded as being a problem or even a flaw. Rather, it was seen as enrichment and a confirmation of the authority of the writings. Just as the different versions of Serek Hayaḥad contribute first and foremost to constituting the community of Qumran and bringing it into being, the different versions of the book of Jeremiah likewise help to model a portrait of Jeremiah and thus create the figure of the prophet in the first place. The way the person came into being out of the conception and not vice versa in the book of Jeremiah is even more evident if we go a step further back into the literary or redaction history of the book. I am not an expert on Jeremiah and know very little of its literary analysis. I look, therefore, to the experts such as Sigmund Mowinckel, Bernhard Duhm, and, more recently, Winfried Thiel, Karl-Friedrich Pohlmann, Christoph Levin, Mark Biddle, Konrad Schmid, and others.14 12  See Stipp, “Formulaic Language and the Formation of the Book of Jeremiah,” in this volume, pp. 145–165. 13  See Sarianna Metso, The Textual Development of the Qumran Community Rule (STDJ 21; Leiden: Brill, 1997). 14  Sigmund Mowinckel, Zur Komposition des Buches Jeremia (Videnskapsselskapets Skrifter 2; Kristianan: Dybwad, 1914); Bernhard Duhm, Das Buch Jeremia erklärt (KHC XI; Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr, 1901); Winfried Thiel, Die deuteronomistische Redaktion von Jeremia 1–25 (WMANT 41; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1973); idem, Die deuteronomistische Redaktion von Jeremia 26–45: Mit einer Gesamtbeurteilung der deuteronomistischen Redaktion des Buches Jeremia (WMANT 52; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1981); Karl-Friedrich Pohlmann, Studien zum Jeremiabuch: Ein Beitrag zur Frage nach der Entstehung des Jeremiabuches (FRLANT 118; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1978); idem, Die Ferne Gottes—Studien zum Jeremiabuch: Beiträge zu den “Konfessionen” im

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These experts have taught us that the Jeremianic tradition began with the heart-rending laments about the approaching “foe from the North” and the forthcoming destruction of Judah in Jer 4–6, or—somewhat later—in Jer 2–10 (finally in 10:22). These laments are not really prophetic oracles, such as we are familiar with from the ancient Near East or from the Hebrew Bible. Rather they are expressions as we would expect from lamenting priests, who almost evoke the approaching disaster, perhaps with the intention of banishing or preventing it. However, it did not stay that way.15 In the further literary development, the laments turned into accusations. The threat of the “foe from the North” turned into a punishment that YHWH inflicted on his people in Judah and Jerusalem and on his city, the “daughter of Zion.” This reinterpretation of the laments in terms of accusations can be found in the collection of Jer 2–6, and it forms the basis for the further development of the prophetic tradition in the book. In the course of this development, the figure of the prophet gains ever more importance as mediator and incarnation of God’s word. Step by step we can observe how the person of the prophet emerges from the conception of prophecy of doom in the book. It is debatable, though, if all the prophecies had always been ascribed to Jeremiah, or if they were originally handed down anonymously. In any case, it is the prophecy of doom that makes Jeremiah the biblical prophet as we know him. Thus, symbolic prophetic acts in first-person reports were added between the words about the “foe from the North” (in Jer 2–10) and the oracles on kings, priests and prophets (in Jer 13 and 22–23). These symbolic acts illustrate YHWH’s judgement with the figure of the prophet, and they are interpreted by the divine word (Jer 13; 16; 18; 19). Both the symbolic actions and divine words are God’s message to the prophet, which manifests itself in his figure. Or, to quote Joseph Blenkinsopp: “Here again, then, we are approaching the point where the person, as much as the spoken word, is the message.”16 In other words, the message becomes a person, the person of the prophet Jeremiah. Jeremiabuch und ein Versuch zur Frage nach den Anfängen der Jeremiatradition (BZAW 179; Berlin: de Gruyter, 1989); Christoph Levin, Die Verheißung des neuen Bundes: in ihrem theologiegeschichtlichen Zusammenhang ausgelegt (FRLANT 137; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1985); Mark E. Biddle, A Redaction History of Jeremiah 2:1–4:2 (ATANT 77; Zürich: Theologischer Verlag, 1990); Konrad Schmid, Buchgestalten des Jeremiabuches: Untersuchungen zur Redaktions- und Rezeptionsgeschichte von Jer 30–33 im Kontext des Buches (WMANT 72; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1996). 15  For the following, see Reinhard G. Kratz, Die Propheten Israels (Beck’sche Reihe Wissen 2326; Munich: C. H. Beck, 2003); rev., enlarged, and trans. as The Prophets of Israel (Critical Studies in the Hebrew Bible 2; Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 2015). 16  Blenkinsopp, History, 146.

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In the narratives about the prophet, which are written in the 3rd-person singular, the identity of the “foe from the North” is unveiled and called by their known names for the first time: Babylon and Nebuchadnezzar. These stories tell of the life and suffering of the prophet in the last years of Jerusalem and Judah. He meets with resistance from the elite of the people, the kings, the priests and other prophets (Jer 20; 27–30; 36; see also Jer 7 and 26); he is captured and finally deported to Egypt, where all trace of him is lost (Jer 37–44). Just as Isaiah has become the prophet of the Assyrian period, so has Jeremiah, through these narratives, become the prophet of the Babylonian (Chaldean) era. The suffering prophet is a motif that occurs already in earlier prophetic books and is taken up and evaluated here in narrative form. The long speeches put into the prophet’s mouth show another side of his personality. Written in prose and adopting a tone that recalls Deuteronomy and the Deuteronomistic tradition (Jer 7; 11; 16; 18; 19, etc.), these speeches are a type of sermon. They are often attached to the symbolic acts and their interpretation, or to other prophetic oracles that set the theme of the sermons. In these texts the prophet acts as a teacher of the law who exhorts the people to keep the First Commandment.17 He uses historical flashbacks to trace the people’s disobedience back to the time of the exodus and the patriarchs, and urges them to repent. Repentance opens up perspectives for the future that the prophecies of salvation unfold in many ways (especially in Jer 30–33, and 25; 46–51). All these different genres, traditions, or layers of prophecies in the book of Jeremiah—the laments, symbolic acts and narratives, as well as the sermons—feature the figure of the prophet in a particular way. As the prophet advocates God’s word and experiences divine judgement, so he increasingly enters into conflict. He first comes into conflict with the “false prophets,” later with antagonists amongst his own people, in his own family, and last but not least, he comes into conflict and struggles with God himself. In a particular group of texts, known as the “confessions” of Jeremiah (Jer 12; 15; 17; 18; 20), the prophetic tradition allows us to participate in the prophet’s intimate dispute with God. In these confessions the prophet represents every righteous individual within his people, the people of God. The prophet—as every righteous

17  See Christl Maier, Jeremia als Lehrer der Tora: Soziale Gebote des Deuteronomiums in Fortschreibungen des Jeremiabuches (FRLANT 196; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2002); eadem, “The Nature of Deutero-Jeremianic Texts,” in this volume, pp. 103–123.

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individual—is made to suffer by God, who seems to punish the righteous one but spares the sinner.18 Hardly any of the other prophetic books reports as much on the prophetic figure as the book of Jeremiah. The prophet’s activity supposedly lasted forty years (from the 13th year of Josiah up to the fall of Jerusalem; Jer 1:2–3; 25:3). Here, according to Joseph Blenkinsopp, “we have something approaching a biography of Jeremiah from conception to his last days in Egypt.”19 Yet the issue at stake is not the historical Jeremiah, but the literary (biblical) figure. The same holds true here like elsewhere in the tradition of saints: the more we learn about the figure and the inner life of the prophet, the further we move away from its historical origin. 3

Why Jeremiah?

After all, it seems that in the case of Jeremiah—as in the case of Homer—the conception has produced the person rather than the other way round. This is not only true in the para-biblical (apocryphal) literature of the Jeremianic writings, but it applies already to the book of Jeremiah itself. And that is why we have to ask ourselves at the end: Why Jeremiah? With the transcription of the Septuagint Ιερεμιας, the name probably derives from r-w-m Hiphil “straighten up, help up” and not from the root r-m-h “throw, shoot” or “betray, let down,” as suggested by the Masoretic vocalisation of yirmĕyāhû. It has more or less the meaning of “the Lord has lifted up” or “may lift up” or “is exalted.” Thus, the name conceptualizes the book’s message quite appropriately. However, we should still not resort to the unprovable assumption that the name was invented or constructed specifically for the book of Jeremiah. The name occurs in epigraphical form, once even in a filiation, which can easily be restored in such a way that it would refer to a family of prophets: lyrmyhw bn ṣpnyhw bn nby[ʾ].20 Likewise, the scribe Baruch, his father Neriah (Jer 43:6) and his brother Seraiah (Jer 51:59) are also attested

18  On these texts, see Hannes Bezzel, Die Konfessionen Jeremias: Eine redaktionsgeschich­t­ liche Studie (BZAW 378; Berlin: de Gruyter, 2007). 19  Blenkinsopp, History, 146. 20  No. 100.258 in Graham I. Davies et al., Ancient Hebrew Inscriptions: Corpus and Concordance (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991), 154.

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in bullae from the late 7th, early 6th centuries bce: lbrkyhw bn nryhw hspr;21 lšryhw (bn) nryhw.22 In short: There is absolutely no reason to doubt the historicity of a person, perhaps even of a prophet called Jeremiah and of a scribe called Baruch, son of Neriah. The question is simply whether these two have something to do with the literature that has been preserved under their names, both in the book of Jeremiah and in the para-biblical writings of Jeremiah and Baruch. Here, the epigraphic data offer the possibility of a historical combination between the situation shortly before and after the Babylonian invasion 597 bce and the book of Jeremiah that presupposes this situation, especially in the prophetic narratives. In this historical situation, there appears to have been two factions dividing the royal family and also the prophets: while one group relied on the protective power of Egypt and favored resistance against Babylon and Nebuchadnezzar, the other group advocated capitulation to the Babylonians as the new master of Syria-Palestine and coming to an arrangement with Nebuchadnezzar. The majority belonged to the first group and included the Babylonian vassal kings Jehoiakim, Jehoiachin, and Zedekiah, who stopped the tribute and engineered a revolt against Babylon, as well as the prophet Hananiah, who prophesied the downfall of the Babylonian Empire. The minority, however, which formed the second group and placed their allegiance in the Babylonians, followed the policies of king Josiah, and included Jeremiah and the governor Gedaliah. The different political parties, too, are attested epigraphically. Examples for this are the request of King Adon of Aphek for help to the Egyptian Pharaoh,23 or the Lachish ostracon no. 6,24 in which an official warns his commander of the undermining of military morale through superiors in Jerusalem; letters are mentioned that have the effect to “make your hands go limp” or “let the men’s hands fall.” If we include Lachish ostracon no. 3 as well,25 which cites a prophetic oracle (‫“ השמר‬beware”), then we see that prophets played an important role in this conflict. Against this background, it is tempting to assign Jeremiah and his scribe Baruch, who are the central figures of the book of Jeremiah and whose names 21  No. 100.509 in ibid., 186. 22  No. 100.780 ibid., 230. 23  No. 266 in Herbert Donner and Wolfgang Röllig, eds., Kanaanäische und Aramäische Inschriften, mit einem Beitrag von O. Rössler (3 vols.; Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1962–1964) 1:51; 2:312–15; 3:plate XXXIII. 24  No. 1.006 in Davies, Inscriptions, 3. 25  No. 1.003 in ibid., 1.

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are also epigraphically documented, to this particular historical period. In doing so, one can interpret the book of Jeremiah or large parts of it from the perspective of this situation and declare it authentic. In particular, the legend of the origin of the book of Jeremiah in Jer 36 that involves the scribe Baruch seems—at a first glance—to attain a high level of historical plausibility.26 So the question arises: Is it then actually the case that in the book of Jeremiah the conception, in fact, evolves from the historical person(s) and not vice versa as we assumed above? However, this historical combination, though being the usual one, is a very bold assertion and cannot be proven. If we deal somewhat more cautiously with the epigraphic material on the one hand and the literary (biblical and para-biblical) sources on the other hand, then we should also consider other options at the very least. It all could have been quite different. But what would another option look like? It could well be that there was a man called Jeremiah, who perhaps belonged to a family of prophets. Likewise a scribe called Baruch, son of Neriah almost certainly existed. Both are likely to have lived in the late 7th and early 6th centuries bce and were involved in the political turmoil of their times. Furthermore, there might have been some written records dealing with these two figures preserved in some archive in Jerusalem or somewhere else in Judah, which were found by later scribes. Perhaps among them there were laments of a priest or a prophet, like those included in Jer 4–6, such as 4:7, 13, 19–21; 6:1, 22–23. Yet this, and certainly everything else, remains purely speculative. So, on the basis of the epigraphic data, no more can be said. It might, therefore, have been mere chance that brought the name Jeremiah to the attention of the authors of the oldest book of Jeremiah and caused the scribes to connect him to one of their ancestors and colleagues, namely the scribe Baruch. In any case, the widespread effect and the reception of the two names in the book itself as well as in the para-biblical literature of Jeremiah did not—as far as we see on the basis of the epigraphic evidence—emanate from the historical figures. Rather, the impact is based on the message of the book that neither resistance against Babylon nor the political strategies of a voluntary submission to Babylon are of any use, but the god YHWH alone has brought the Babylonians as judgement on his people. Thus, only submission to this god and his law has any prospects of salvation. The significance of the figures of 26  See, e.g., Blenkinsopp, History, 133–34 (steering his “course between naive optimism and out-and-out skepticism,” ibid., 138); see also the contribution of Friedhelm Hartenstein, “Prophets, Princes, and Kings: Prophecy and Prophetic Books according to Jeremiah 36,” in this volume, pp. 70–91.

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the prophet and his scribe has evolved from this message, the prophecy of doom—especially in the legend about the book in Jer 36. Why then Jeremiah, why Baruch? In my opinion, it actually does not matter what the two figures are called, or who they once were. Even though Jeremiah and Baruch might have been historical figures, the fact still remains that the portrayal of their person emerged from the conception and not the other way round. The historical figures themselves probably never anticipated or were aware of their eminent careers in the Jeremianic literature. Only in the context of the book of Jeremiah and the related para-biblical literature do Jeremiah and Baruch take on their specific roles. And only in the context of the Jeremianic literature are they ascribed their significance as mediators of God’s word in their original historical situation. In a long process of revision and rewriting (Fortschreibung) that goes far beyond the bounds of the historical and political situation of the late 7th and early 6th centuries bce, the two figures became what they are for us today.

chapter 16

Was Jeremiah Invented? The Relation of an Author to a Literary Tradition. A Response to Reinhard G. Kratz Bernard M. Levinson I want to congratulate Reinhard Kratz for his thought-provoking essay that seeks to push the boundaries of how we think about the relation between text composition and text reception. His work builds on a series of other studies in which he challenges conventional assumptions in biblical studies by drawing upon his extensive work in Second Temple literature. One of the most striking of these is an essay that uses Pesher Nahum, 4QpNah (4Q169), to shed light not simply on the history of interpretation of the biblical book of Nahum but on its composition and redaction as well.1 In the contribution to this volume, Kratz ups the ante even further, as he uses the Epistle of Jeremiah to probe the connection between the historical Jeremiah and the literary protagonist named Jeremiah who acquires a life of his own in the book of Jeremiah, as well as in the various pseudepigraphic compositions attributed to the prophet. More broadly, Kratz attempts to shed light on how biblical scholars understand the relation between literature and history. His essay requires a response from a couple of different perspectives. A plain text reading of Kratz’s work reveals three main arguments. First, he suggests that if we examine the Letter of Jeremiah using current historical-critical approaches, there is little reason to contest its Jeremianic authenticity.2 Second, recasting Friedrich Nietzsche’s pointed critique of the Homeric question, Kratz maintains that the concept of Jeremiah is entirely the creation of the biblical and non-biblical Jeremianic texts. Therefore, the question of whether or not there was a historical prophet named Jeremiah is irrelevant to the study of the figure of Jeremiah. Moreover, attempts to reconstruct a historical prophet from the literary and epigraphic evidence are

1  Reinhard G. Kratz, “Der Pescher Nahum und seine biblische Vorlage,” in Prophetenstudien: Kleine Schriften II (FAT 74; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011), 99–145. 2  Reinhard G. Kratz, “Why Jeremiah? The Invention of a Prophetic Figure,” in this volume, 197–212 (esp. 197–202).

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irredeemably speculative.3 Finally, according to Kratz, since the literary figure of Jeremiah should be our sole object of study, all contributors to that literary figure should be given equal consideration. We should not privilege the evidence from canonical texts over non-canonical texts, or from earlier texts over later texts.4 The engaging style of the essay embodies its own intellectual project. Kratz’s several playful references to his own academic reputation become a kind of mise en abyme5 for the larger subject of the essay: the relation between an author and his or her literary tradition. Precisely those witty and ironic selfreferences raise the question whether the essay’s bold arguments reflect the positions held by the historical Kratz.6 Is this instead a new conception of Kratz created by his text as a rhetorical device? Has he taken an exaggerated position on the Epistle, and perhaps even on the historical Jeremiah, as a way to provoke his readers to think clearly and specifically about how we evaluate and use literary evidence? Kratz earlier referenced his 1998 Altes Testament Deutsch commentary, in which he dated the Epistle of Jeremiah to the postJeremianic period.7 Yet in his current essay, Kratz appears to argue that the Epistle may be early and authentic.8 Knowing that both contributions are authentically Kratzian, how do we explain the development of the literary concept of Kratz as created through his writings? Moreover, since the final position of Kratz is that Jeremiah, the historical figure, has contributed nothing to the book of Jeremiah, but instead is a product of the book, what does it mean altogether to speak of “authenticity”? I will leave it to others (or as Kratz might 3  Ibid., 203–11. 4  Ibid., 211–12. 5  “[I]n modern literary theory a mise en abyme or ‘duplication intérieure’ [refers to] . . . the embedding in a work of a representation of this work.” See Jean-Pierre Sonnet, The Book within the Book: Writing in Deuteronomy (Biblical Interpretation Series 14; Leiden: Brill, 1997), 79 (with further bibliography). The self-referential structure, whereby a literary text presents an image of itself in one of its details of plot, was most systematically explored for fiction by Lucien Dällenbach, Le Récit spéculaire: essai sur la mise en abyme (Collection Poétique; Paris: Seuil, 1977). See further David A. Bosworth, The Story within a Story in Biblical Hebrew Narrative (CBQMS 45; Washington, D.C.: Catholic Biblical Association, 2008). 6  Kratz, “Why Jeremiah?” 200. 7  Ibid., 197 and n. 1; referencing idem, “Der Brief des Jeremia,” in Das Buch Baruch, Der Brief des Jeremia, Zusätze zu Esther und Daniel (ed. Odil H. Steck, Reinhard G. Kratz, and Ingo Kottsieper; ATD Apokryphen 5; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1998), 69–108 (at 81–84). 8  Kratz, “Why Jeremiah?” 197–200.  

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say, to the experts) to examine the textual evidence that might shed light on this issue, and I will focus instead on the implications for biblical scholarship that arise from the plain-text reading of Kratz’s essay. My primary reaction is that while I have objections to each of his three main arguments, there are aspects of his approach that are useful correctives for the historical-critical study of the prophetic texts. I will start with my objections. First, I think that there is an elephant in the room that has not yet been named and that has to do with the history of the discipline. Kratz grounds his rejection of the historical Jeremiah upon Nietzsche’s critique of the Homeric question.9 It seems to me that there is a closer analogy for the position that Kratz rejects, one that would likely occur to many biblical scholars upon reading Kratz’s contribution to this volume. Just as the scholars of the library of Alexandria would have taken for granted the existence of Homer, so, in the popular imagination would the literature of the Gospels directly reflect the actions of a living individual, an historical Jesus, who lies behind them. The Nietzschean change of perspective is to consider, as Kratz maintains for Jeremiah, that Jesus is rather the literary protagonist of the Gospels, that the concept is a product of the book. That is, that the Jesus of Matthew, for example, is a construction of the Church, mediated by the Matthean redactor, and represents the culmination of a process of drawing upon earlier sources such as Q and Mark.10 Despite the pivotal role played by Kratz’s recourse to Nietzsche and the Homeric question, and the parallel I noted in modern scholarship on the historical Jesus, both of these examples are imperfect models for understanding the connection between the historical and the literary Jeremiah. I believe that New Testament scholarship actually provides a different analogy that is truer to the problems we are analyzing in this volume. When we consider the Corpus Paulinum, we confront a canonical and literary Paul who is much more 9   Ibid., 203–4. For a discussion of this issue, see Hindy Najman, “Configuring the Text in Biblical Studies,” in A Teacher for All Generations: Essays in Honor of James C. VanderKam (2 vols.; ed. Eric F. Mason et al.; Leiden: Brill, 2012), 1.3–22 (at 8–13); and eadem, Losing the Temple and Recovering the Future: An Analysis of 4 Ezra (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2014), 38–44. 10  For more information on the composition and redaction of the Gospels, see Raymond F. Collins, Introduction to the New Testament (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1983); and Helmut Koester, Ancient Christian Gospels: Their History and Development (Philadelphia: Trinity Press International, 1990). For treatments of specific Gospels, see John Drury, Tradition and Design in Luke’s Gospel: A Study in Early Christian Historiography (London: Darton, Longman & Todd, 1976); and Philip L. Sellew, “Secret Mark and the History of Canonical Mark,” in The Future of Early Christianity (ed. Birger Pearson; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1991), 242–57.

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powerful and comprehensive than any historical Paul could have been. On theology, church leadership, and the role of women in the church, the literary Paul of the second century ce holds positions that are incompatible with the first century historical Paul.11 Using both text-critical and historical-critical methods, scholars have determined that only seven of the Pauline letters can reliably be attributed to the historical Paul.12 The other six are either considered pseudepigraphic or their attribution to historical Paul is disputed.13 In some of these letters, the canonical concept of Paul as a letter writer was clearly the source of the protagonist of these compositions. In other cases, Paul cannot be collapsed into simple concept, but remains an historical individual, without whose distinctive personality and background some of the letters cannot be understood. It was through a process of text selection, editing, sequencing, and composition of new Epistles with pseudepigraphic attribution that the historical Paul of the authentic letters was subsumed under the literary Paul of the New Testament, a created figure who could serve the needs of the second century Church.14 Seen through the lens of tradition, literary Paul became the “real” Paul.15 Yet historical Paul remained, lurking beneath the surface, waiting to be rediscovered. So it is also with literary Jeremiah and historical Jeremiah. 11  See Eva-Marie Becker, “Von Paulus zu ‘Paulus’: Paulinische Pseudepigraphie-Forschung als literaturgeschichtliche Aufgabe,” in Pseudepigraphie und Verfasserfiktion in frühchristlichen Briefen (ed. Jörg Frey et al.; WUNT 246; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2009), 363–86. 12  With particular focus on the text-critical issues, see Günther Zuntz, The Text of the Epistles: A Disquisition upon the Corpus Paulinum (Schweich Lectures of the British Academy, 1946; London: Oxford University Press for the British Academy, 1953); and Michael W. Holmes, “The Text of the Epistles Sixty Years After: An Assessment of Günther Zuntz’s Contribution to Text-Critical Methodology and History,” in Transmission and Reception: New Testament Text-Critical and Exegetical Studies (ed. Jeff W. Childers and D. C. Parker; Texts and Studies Third Series 4; Piscataway, N.J.: Gorgias, 2006), 89–113. 13  The seven undisputed letters are Romans, 1 and 2 Corinthians, Galatians, Philippians, 1 Thessalonians, and Philemon. Four letters are widely viewed as pseudepigraphic: 1 and 2 Timothy, Titus, and Ephesians. The authorship of two letters is disputed: Colossians and 2 Thessalonians. 14  On the emergence of the Pauline corpus and the ancient editorial strategies employed to construct a Pauline tradition, see Eric W. Scherbenske, Canonizing Paul: Ancient Editorial Practices and the Corpus Paulinium (New York: Oxford University Press, 2013). On pseudepigraphy as a form of authorship within the New Testament, see Harry Y. Gamble, “Pseudonymity and the NT Canon,” in Pseudepigraphie und Verfasserfiktion in frühchristlichen Briefen (ed. Jörg Frey et al.; WUNT 246; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2009), 333–62. 15  See Calvin J. Roetzel, Paul: The Man and the Myth (Columbia: University of South Carolina Press, 1998), 69–92, and 152–77; and idem, The Letters of Paul: Conversations in Context (5th ed.; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2009), 59–83, 141–66.

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My first and major concern therefore is that Kratz works so hard to challenge and correct conventional models that he paints himself into a corner that is inconsistent with his own sensitivity elsewhere to the literary history of a text and its redactional growth. In effect, Kratz reverses the wonderful narrative of Ezek 3 so that, instead of the prophet swallowing the scroll, here the scroll swallows the prophet. Yet the material in Jeremiah is too rich and variegated to be leveled to a catch all formula that the prophet is the product of the concept. Kratz himself reviews the epigraphic evidence for the existence of a prophet named Jeremiah and a scribe named Baruch in the late seventh or early sixth century bce.16 Given the widespread practice in the ancient Near East of recording prophetic utterances, a practice known to us from Mari right through to the Neo-Assyrian and Neo-Babylonian periods,17 it seems reasonable to infer that at least some of the writings preserved in the book of Jeremiah represent recorded, though certainly edited, oracles and biographical details from the historical prophet. Since these authentic materials contribute to the image of Jeremiah in the Bible, we can therefore say that historical Jeremiah contributes to the literary conception of Jeremiah. My second concern with Kratz’s arguments is that the evidence from the Epistle itself does not support his claims for its authenticity. Since Greek was not the lingua franca of Judah during Jeremiah’s time, fundamental to establishing that authenticity is the need to prove that the Greek text is a translation from an original Hebrew or Aramaic Vorlage. That the Epistle is a translation 16  Kratz, “Why Jeremiah?” 209–11. 17  For an overview of the written evidence, see Martti Nissinen, with contributions by C. L. Seow and Robert K. Ritner, Prophets and Prophecy in the Ancient Near East (ed. Peter Machinist; SBLWAW 12; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2003). Note that this anthology employs a narrow definition of prophecy as “human transmission of allegedly divine messages” (ibid., 1), which is similar to the biblical conception of prophecy. The volume thus excludes divination and the reading of omens, for which we have extensive evidence of highly formalized and organized literary collections that enter the scribal curriculum. For a discussion of ancient Mesopotamian scribal practices regarding omen texts, see Alan Lenzi, Secrecy and the Gods: Secret Knowledge in Ancient Mesopotamia and Biblical Israel (SAAS 19; Helsinki: The Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project, 2008); and Francesca Rochberg-Halton, “Canonicity in Cuneiform Texts,” JCS 36 (1984): 127–44; and for divination texts, eadem (as Francesca Rochberg), The Heavenly Writing: Divination, Horoscopy, and Astronomy in Mesopotamian Culture (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 44–97, 209–43. Accordingly, distinctive of both the Neo-Assyrian and the ancient Israelite context is the emergence of literary collections of prophetic oracles. For the Assyrian texts, see Simo Parpola, Assyrian Prophecies (SAA 9; Helsinki: Helsinki University Press, 1997). The creation of prophetic books is, of course, unique to ancient Israel.

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is, in fact, a common view in modern scholarship, with most following the detailed treatment of Carey Moore in his 1977 Anchor Bible Commentary on the additions to Daniel, Esther and Jeremiah.18 Yet in a series of recent publications, Benjamin Wright has worked through all of the arguments and demonstrated that the evidence upon which such claims are made is ambiguous at best.19 The Epistle does not contain the features of Hebrew grammar or syntax that are common in other translated texts of the Jewish-Greek corpus.20 In addition, the purported translation errors in the text are explicable both in the context of contemporary Greek usage and in the context of the Epistle itself.21 To take just one example discussed by Kratz,22 scholars claim that the Greek μαρμάρου, “marble,” represents a translation error of an original Hebrew ‫שש‬, which can mean either “marble” or “fine linen.” Wright argues instead that the reference to “marble” in the passage can be reasonably understood as part of an original Greek composition. A literal translation of the line in which μαρμάρου appears is “and from the purple and marble that rots upon them.” “Purple” refers to the clothing in which divine statues were clad. The argument for the misunderstanding of ‫ שש‬as “marble” rests on the fact that marble cannot rot, but fine linen can. However, Wright demonstrates that the verb in this passage, σήπω, can mean both “to rot” and “to waste away.” Accordingly, the verb could be applied logically either to purple cloth or to marble. The verb could function either metaphorically (in reference to the trappings of wealth that do not stand the test of time) or literally (in reference to the inevitable

18  Carey A. Moore, Daniel, Esther and Jeremiah: The Additions (AB 44; Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1977), 326–27. Moore does argue for the existence of a Hebrew original to the extant Greek, but he also sees the Epistle as pseudepigraphic and as having no connection with the historical Jeremiah. 19   Benjamin G. Wright, “The Epistle of Jeremiah: Translation or Composition?” in Deuterocanonical Additions of the Old Testament Books: Selected Studies (ed. Géza G. Xeravits and József Zsengellér; Deuterocanonical and Cognate Literature Studies 5; Berlin: de Gruyter, 2010), 126–42. See also: idem, “The Epistle of Ieremias,” in A New English Translation of the Septuagint (ed. Albert Pietersma and Benjamin G. Wright; New York: Oxford University Press, 2007), 942–45; idem, “Epistle of Jeremiah,” in T&T Clark Companion to the Septuagint (ed. James K. Aitken; London: Bloomsbury T&T Clark, 2015), 520–27; and idem, “Epistole Jeremiu / Epistola Ieremiae / Der Brief des Jeremia,” in Einleitung in die Septuaginta (ed. Siegfried Kreuzer; vol. 1 of Handbuch zur Septuaginta LXX.H; Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 2016), 606–12. 20  Wright, “Epistle of Jeremiah: Translation or Composition?” 128–33. 21  Ibid., 135–41. 22  Kratz, “Why Jeremiah?” 198.

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decay over time of both the purple cloth that covers the divine statues and the marble temples in which they reside).23 On the basis of the available evidence, Wright thus concludes that the language and compositional style of the Epistle are consistent with late fourth century bce. Hellenistic Greek, and its content can be explained without reference to a hypothetical Semitic Vorlage.24 It is also worth mentioning that the form of the Letter comports with the literary genre of pseudepigraphic Epistles, a genre that is also familiar from the history of the early Church.25 Thus, in language, content and form, there is little evidentiary support for the proposal that the Letter could be authentic. Yet while the existence of a Hebrew or Aramaic Vorlage is key to establishing the authenticity of the Epistle, in some respects that issue is irrelevant to the evaluation of Kratz’s arguments about the construction of literary Jeremiah. Regardless of whether the Epistle was composed in Hebrew, Aramaic, or Greek, as Kratz himself notes, the Epistle’s author seems to have borrowed concepts and language from the book of Jeremiah.26 It follows, then, that the Epistle’s conception of Jeremiah is also not a free creation, but rather one based on the earlier conception created in the book and present in the material the Epistle uses from the book of Jeremiah. Overall, the evidence for the date and composition of the Epistle suggests it is both late and derivative, and therefore not as useful as the book of Jeremiah for examining either the historical Jeremiah or the genesis of literary Jeremiah. On this point I find the arguments provided by the historical Kratz of the ATD commentary more persuasive than the ones made in this volume by the literary figure.27 I do not find the Jeremiah of the Epistle to rise to the strengths, literary or theological, of the biblical Jeremiah. The concerns of the Epistle seem to center on the stereotypical threat of idolatry and imagined cultural assimilation. Yet the conception of idolatry in the Epistle seems more like a Charlie Chaplin literary fantasy than to bear any remote connection to the mīs-pî rituals of Mesopotamia.28 In addition, the Epistle seems to lack the 23  Wright, “Epistle of Jeremiah: Translation or Composition?” 139–40. 24  Ibid., 133–41. Wright does not argue that the Epistle cannot be a translation (though he thinks it unlikely based on his evaluation of the evidence). Rather, he seeks to disprove the current view that the only explanation for the unusual features of the Epistle is that it must be a translation (ibid., 127, 141). 25  See notes 11, 12 and 14 above. 26  Kratz, “Why Jeremiah?” 198–99. 27  Ibid., “Der Brief des Jeremia,” 73–87. 28  For discussions of the mīs-pî rituals and biblical prophetic perspectives on the practice, see Michael B. Dick, “Prophetic Parodies of Making the Cult Image,” and Christopher

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concerns about ethics, true and false prophecy, prophetic symbolic action, or national policy in relation to the imperial powers of Babylon that animate the biblical book of Jeremiah. For the biblical Jeremiah, the internal conflict between his prophetic mission and the hostility he encounters in proclaiming his oracles means that he experiences the word of God as “a burning fire shut up in my bones” (Jer 20:9). In contrast, in the Epistle of Jeremiah, prophetic speech has become reduced to a series of literary and theological clichés, with no spark of life. In short, arguments that are made by analogy to the Epistle of Jeremiah, which is an intertextual composition, do not have probative significance for understanding the creation of the literary Jeremiah of the Bible. Having noted the points on which I object to Kratz’s arguments, let me now turn to the ways in which I believe his approach can be useful to biblical scholars. First, he reminds us of the importance of distinguishing between the historical prophet and the literary prophet. Setting aside the question of the historical Jeremiah, it is fundamentally true that the received text of Jeremiah has come to us through a long process of text selection and editing. The editors chose which texts to include in their compilation. They selected the elements of Jeremiah’s biography to include in the story of his prophetic service. And they decided how to organize and frame all of that material. Thus, the conception of Jeremiah in the book that bears his name is indeed a literary construct. Moreover, the prophetic speech-acts and the detailed prophetic biography in Jeremiah present a situation where, to repeat Kratz’s quote of Blenkinsopp, “we are approaching the point where the person, as much as the spoken word, is the message.”29 Therefore, the study of the figure of Jeremiah in the Bible is important to more than just the question of the historical person. A conscious study of the literary prophet as shaped by Jeremiah’s editors is integral to the analysis of the theology and message of the book. Kratz also reminds us that the line between canonical and non-canonical texts is somewhat artificial. It was created not at the moment of the composition of the texts, but rather over the following centuries, as texts achieved varying degrees of authoritative status within the Jewish community. Prior Walker and Michael B. Dick, “The Induction of the Cult Image in Ancient Mesopotamia: The Mesopotamian mīs pî Ritual” in Born in Heaven, Made on Earth: The Making of the Cult Image in the Ancient Near East (ed. Michael B. Dick; Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 1999), 1–53 and 55–121. See also Christopher Walker and Michael B. Dick, The Induction of the Cult Image in Ancient Mesopotamia: The Mesopotamian Mīs Pî Ritual (SAALT 1; Helsinki: State Archives of Assyria Project, 2001). 29  Kratz, “Why Jeremiah?” 207 and n. 16; citing Joseph Blenkinsopp, A History of Prophecy in Israel: Revised and Enlarged (Louisville, Ky.: Westminster John Knox, 1996), 168.

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to canonization, however, these texts all developed within a diverse stream of tradition. In his arguments for the authenticity of the Epistle of Jeremiah, Kratz notes that the Epistle “does not ‘contradict the portrayal of Jeremiah which is contained in the book as a whole.’ ”30 Now, the lack of contradiction alone cannot be used to establish authenticity. On the other hand, an analysis of the points of agreement in the literary conception of Jeremiah across the Jeremianic corpus may still provide useful information about the elements of the Jeremianic portrayal that were meaningful within the tradition and to the community. In short, they may help answer the question Kratz raised of “why Jeremiah?”31 Why was his name remembered? Why was his work, if any of it is indeed his work, preserved? Why was the larger corpus of prophetic material in the biblical book attributed to Jeremiah? And why was his persona used by later pseudepigraphic authors to convey their messages? That said, there is an extent to which the way Kratz frames his investigation as a question of “why Jeremiah” leads to a foregone conclusion. It then becomes inevitable that, toward the end of his essay, Kratz argues that the historical Jeremiah and Baruch were insignificant figures in the sweep of history: “The widespread effect and the reception of the two names in the book itself as well as in the para-biblical literature of Jeremiah did not—as far as we see on the basis of the epigraphic evidence—emanate from the historical figures. Rather, the impact is based on the message. . . .”32 There are two assumptions inherent in this claim: First, it assumes there is nothing of historical Jeremiah in the biblical Jeremiah, or to put it another way, that historical Jeremiah did not contribute to biblical Jeremiah. I have already stated my objections on that point. Second, it assumes that the only reason to study the Jeremianic corpus is to understand its message. But in formulating the issue in this way, might Kratz have fallen into the very trap he was trying to avoid? In his rejection of the use of literary Jeremiah to reconstruct historical Jeremiah, he appears to be using literary Jeremiah to negate historical Jeremiah. For me, both Jeremiahs are equally valid subjects of study, provided scholars remember that there is indeed a difference between the two.

30  Kratz, “Why Jeremiah?” 201 and n. 3; drawing upon a comment by Klaus Seybold regarding Jer 1 in Seybold’s Der Prophet Jeremia: Leben und Werk (Urban-Taschenbücher 416; Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1993), 42. 31  Kratz, “Why Jeremiah?” 212. 32  Kratz, “Why Jeremiah?” 211.

chapter 17

The Question of Prophetic “Authenticity.” A Response to Reinhard G. Kratz Olivia Stewart First, I would like to thank Reinhard Kratz for such a clear and thought-provoking paper. I think he is right to mark sometimes unexamined scholarly assumptions about prophecy and authenticity, and I think his work can help us re-read many texts beyond the Jeremianic corpus. It is interesting to me that the text under scrutiny here is a letter, penned in the prophet’s name. Taking this letter as more than just pseudepigraphy or historical fiction, as Kratz does, can help us understand the function of other pseudepigraphic letters. As someone studying the New Testament, I think of the Deutero-Pauline letters, and the ways that they serve to construct the figure of Paul and extend his authoritative teachings. They also provide biographical information for Paul. Like Jeremiah, then, the biblical Paul becomes a composite figure, built over time.1 What Kratz is noting here with Jeremiah, is, I think, a widespread literary phenomenon in the ancient world, and thus this paper has relevance for reading lots of different texts beyond pseudepigraphic letters. Many ancient prophets, whether Isaiah or Zechariah,2 the Delphic Pythia3 or the Jewish/Christian

1  For a fuller discussion of this process, see Bernard Levinson, “Was Jeremiah Invented? In Dialogue with Reinhard Kratz about the Relation of an Author to a Literary Tradition,” in this volume, 213–21 at 215–16. 2  See Robert Wilson, Prophecy and Society in Ancient Israel (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1980). Wilson writes, “A number of the late prophetic writings are simply added on to earlier books, and in this way the anonymous author claims the authority of an earlier prophet who lived in a time when prophetic authority was still recognized. This device has been used by Second Isaiah, Third Isaiah, Second Zechariah, and Third Zechariah, among others. The tendency in this period to edit an existing prophetic book rather than create a new book may also reflect an attempt to gain support from the past” (ibid., 291). 3  See, for example, Joseph Fontenrose’s catalogue of Delphic oracles, grouped into four categories: “Historical Responses,” “Quasi-Historical Responses,” “Legendary Responses,” and “Fictional Responses” (Joseph Fontenrose, The Delphic Oracle: Its Responses and Operations with a Catalogue of Responses [Berkeley: University of California Press, 1978], 240–416).

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sibyl,4 serve as mouthpieces for later authors who write prophetic material for them. Now, the evidence for their historical activity varies, and John Collins has already noted today in the conference that there may well be some major differences for us between prophets like Jeremiah, who some of us think did exist, as opposed to someone like Enoch. However, all of these prophets share the trait of voicing others’ prophetic writings in ongoing literary traditions. In turn, these later writings contribute to a fuller picture of each prophet. My own thinking about prophetic figures, along with, I suspect, that of many others of us at this conference, has been strongly shaped by Hindy Najman’s work—especially her emphasis on looking forward to the ongoing construction of figures and their discourses, rather than exclusively looking back and restricting one’s inquiry to the division between historically authentic and inauthentic material.5 Najman also appeals to this passage by Nietzsche on the “Homeric question,”6 using it to help explain the Jewish literary phenomenon of “Mosaic discourse,” which, by way of reminder, refers to texts written in the name and voice of Moses, that serve to expand, explain, and correct earlier Mosaic writings.7 With all of this in mind, let us return to Nietzsche’s question, cited by both Kratz8 and Najman: Which comes first, the person or the conception? When we look at this ancient literary trend of creating prophetic material, I wonder whether we have to choose one or the other—the person or the conception. I certainly agree with Kratz’s paper that in the case of Jeremiah, certain conceptions may well have preceded a historical person. I also appreciate the corrective this paper offers to hidden scholarly assumptions about biblical authority and historical prophets. Forcing ourselves, however, to choose between a person and a conception leaves us stuck in debates about “authenticity” and “inauthenticity,” and, more importantly, it restricts us to a modern historical-critical definition of 4  See the introduction to the Sibylline Oracles by John J. Collins (vol. 1 of The Old Testament Pseudepigrapha; ed. James Charlesworth; New York: Doubleday, 1983), 317–24; for a discussion of the Oracles as forgeries, see Bart Ehrman, Forgery and Counterforgery: The Use of Literary Deceit in Early Christian Polemics (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013), 508–19. 5  Hindy Najman, Seconding Sinai: The Development of Mosaic Discourse in Second Temple Judaism (Supplements to the Journal for the Study of Judaism 77; Leiden: Brill, 2003); eadem, “Configuring the Text in Biblical Studies,” in A Teacher for All Generations (vol. 1 of A Teacher for All Generations; ed. Eric F. Mason et al; Leiden; Boston: Brill, 2012), 3–22. 6  Najman, “Configuring the Text,” esp 8–13; see also eadem, Losing the Temple and Recovering the Future: An Analysis of 4 Ezra (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2014), 38–49. 7  Najman, Seconding Sinai, esp 1–20. 8  Reinhard G. Kratz, “Why Jeremiah? The Invention of a Prophetic Figure,” in this volume, 204.

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“authenticity”: namely, that something is authentic if a prophet in the past wrote or said basically this exact message. I do not mean to imply that these historical-critical questions are unimportant or uninteresting, but I do think that there are other historical questions we can ask when thinking about this material, and other ways of thinking about authenticity. If we allow for a notion of “person” that can mean figure9 rather than just a historical prophet, and if we remember the ongoing nature of producing and receiving Jeremianic traditions, we do not have to assign permanent priority to either the conception or the person. In other words, the relationship between the message and the figure is cyclical. Yes, writing new prophetic material serves to build up the prophet, and over time various biographical details are consolidated around him. In turn, though, ancient writers find the person of Jeremiah (or the Delphic Pythia, or Paul) to be an appealing figure for their message. Jeremiah becomes the gravitational center of a group of texts, and his name grants authority and continuity to these messages, even while it is being reinforced by them. Kratz referred to this briefly when he spoke about the figure of the prophet gaining more importance,10 but I think we could emphasize this point more strongly. It is appropriate to ask not only how the message transforms the figure of the prophet, but also how the figure of the prophet transforms the message. This cyclical relationship between person and conception can also help us reimagine what “authenticity” might have meant in different ancient contexts. For example, a text might have been considered authentic for an ancient reader if it was received as sufficiently authoritative to compel a change in behavior, whether or not it went back to the words of an historical prophet. At this point, lots of historical questions could be asked of prophetic discourses, about both their production and their reception. We can ask how ancient writers understood the process of writing oracles, and who was allowed to do it; we can ask what made a prophet appealing to a later writer; we can ask how ancient readers imagined these oracles to be related to the prophet. Finally, remembering Najman’s work, we can ask how these texts expand, explain, and correct earlier Jeremianic writings. All of these questions could be fruitful lines of inquiry for Jeremianic material. I would like to offer thanks to Reinhard Kratz for noting scholarly blind spots and inconsistencies, for reconfiguring the way we understand the prophet Jeremiah, and thereby calling for a new way forward.

9   See Najman, Seconding Sinai, 70–107. 10  Kratz, “Why Jeremiah?” 207.

chapter 18

Jeremiah: The Prophet and the Concept. A Response to Reinhard G. Kratz Zafer Tayseer Mohammad Reinhard Kratz’s presentation has truly invoked and provoked some questions in my mind, so thinking out loud, so to speak, I have a set of questions to raise in response: Does a message or a conception always necessitate a messenger or an author? Could a message or a conception stand on its own without a messenger or an author? Or how might a message create its messenger or author? Or, alternatively, how and why could a messenger or an author emerge from a message accordingly? I think that these invocations along with other questions could be indeed relevant to our discussions and deliberations on the book of Jeremiah, primarily in the context of “the invention or the creation of a prophetic figure,” the sub-title of Kratz’s wonderful presentation. Kratz mentions in his presentation that the authors of para-biblical Jeremiah and Baruch texts created Jeremiah, the prophet, in order to let him speak and proclaim God’s word.1 And in the words of Kratz, again, the person, Jeremiah, came into being out of the conception and not vice versa. That means, in other words, that the person of Jeremiah evolved out of the conception. Consequently, another cluster of questions could be raised here: Why was it important for the redactors of Jeremiah to create a person with such massive biographical and elaborate autographical materials out of a conception? What was their purpose for such an invention or creation? What was the intention of the creators of the prophet Jeremiah? Could a conception function without a person? Why then did the conception need a person? I do not pretend that I can give definite and full-fledged answers to all these questions within the constraints of this contribution, but these questions are worthy ones for further and future reflections on and explorations of Jeremiah. At this juncture I wanted to address the connections between the person and the conception in order to understand the argument about “how the person 1  Reinhard G. Kratz, “ Why Jeremiah? The Invention of a Prophetic Figure,” in this volume, 205.

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could be evolved from the conception,” which is the case in Jeremiah according to Prof. Kratz’s argument. In Merriam-Webster’s dictionary (online version) “conception” is defined as “the capacity, the function, or the process of forming or understanding ideas or abstractions or their symbols.”2 So a conception could be considered a process for understanding ideas and abstractions. How could this relate to the deliberations about the book of Jeremiah? According to Angelika Berlejung, the “. . . purpose of the Old Testament is to explain the People of Israel’s past against the background of God’s presence, and, in this way to interpret the present experience of God’s people in order to shape its future.”3 So, a theological understanding and an explanation of the dynamics of the relationship are a necessary pursuit to reflect on the past in order to form a vision or an outlook for the future. But that theological explanation of the past and past experiences could not be a mere abstraction. That understanding and explanation truly sought to generate the requirements for a consistent livable faith experience. Through that living and continuous encounter between God and his people, the people of Israel could fulfill their theological obligations as the people of the covenant. So the presentations of these terms of the relationship through mere conceptions or abstractions could not capture the essence and the core values of this unique relationship between God and Israel. Therefore, in the process of the presentation of the conception, a human voice or a human agent evolved in order to create all the necessary human relevance, implications, and connections. The experience with God needed to be relatable to a human voice. By making such affiliations, the word of God could become alive and relevant to the experience of the nation, both individually and collectively. It is in this manner that one might perceive a movement in which the person (concrete) had evolved from the abstraction (conception) in order to capture the many essences and varied dimensions of this theological relationship and encounter. In this context, Jeremiah, the person and the prophet, would embody all the hopes, aspirations, tribulations, and dilemmas that the people of Israel had encountered in their past experiences in concrete and human terms. The building of his biographical and autographical material and the multiplicity of voices in Jeremiah then represent the faith experience of the whole nation. Consequently, the reader of Jeremiah could relate to the prophet’s experiences, 2  See http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/conception. 3  Angelika Berlejung, “Sources,” in T&T Clark Handbook of the Old Testament: An Introduction to the Literature, Religion, and History of the Old Testament (ed. Jan C. Gertz; New York, New York: T&T Clark International, 2012), 3.

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encounters, and reflections as their own, and then find all affiliations and associations with him and his experiences. In Jer 1:1 we read that it is “the word of God” that came to Jeremiah. So at the outset, the concentration of the book of Jeremiah is directed toward the word of God (the conception), out of which Jeremiah (the person) had evolved in order to convey and communicate the message accordingly. So Jeremiah evolved from the word of God to pluck up, and to pull down, to destroy and to overthrow, to build and to plant. This is what Jeremiah actually says in 1:10. Through this process of developing Jeremiah from the conception, the diversity and complexity of human experience could be eloquently presented and reflected on. Why Jeremiah? Kratz states in his presentation that it does not matter what the figure is called or who he once was.4 In this context I perceive Jeremiah as a conduit of many sorts, communing with something larger than the historical prophetic figure manifest in the autobiographical and biographical data. Jeremiah becomes a representative for every individual in the whole nation of Israel as they evolve in their encounter with God. Thus, the invention of a prophetic figure was not merely for the sake of recording information about a historical prophet, as it might be that, but it is more than that. This invention sought to infuse the theological experience with new meanings, outlooks, dimensions, and perspectives. It infused it with the power of human experience and intervention for the direct interaction with the word of God that Jeremiah, the person and the agent, communicated and delivered. Through that experience, each and every person could then relate to it and be included in it, too. Thus, the theological utterances of Jeremiah became an important element for the elimination of all hindrances and impediments that might obstruct a living relationship and encounter with God and fulfilling his commandments. Jeremiah’s voice and experience are the people’s voice and their experience evolving from the constant encounter with the word of God. Like him, the community of the faithful could evolve and integrate anew and continually from their constant theological experience and encounter with God.

4  Kratz, Why Jeremiah, 212.

part 2 Ancient Jewish Literature

∵

chapter 19

Confessing in Exile: The Reception and Composition of Jeremiah in (Daniel and) Baruch Judith H. Newman How does the book of Jeremiah end? For many, the answer is clear. Contem­ porary biblical commentators end their own books with MT Jer 52, the “historical appendix” that describes Nebuchadrezzar’s siege against Jerusalem, the destruction of the temple, and the exile of the king and population to Babylon. That episode would seem to bring to an end the story of the nation state of Israel in the land. But in the Greco-Roman period, centuries before the Aleppo and Leningrad Codices had crystallized as the unquestionable basis of the Hebrew Bible, that “sense of an ending” was very much an open question.1 While the nation state may have ended, the covenant people endured. As communities tried to make sense of the institutional disruption and popula­ tion dispersion first created by the exile, multiple works related to the nar­ rative world of Jeremiah were composed and circulated. We know from the Qumran caves that our earliest manuscript evidence for the prophetic text of Jeremiah reveals texts in flux at least as late as the second century bce. In addition to texts that correspond in some degree to the later MT Jeremiah and LXX Jeremiah, we find the so-called Apocryphon of Jeremiah texts, the Epistle of Jeremiah (found in Greek in 7Q), and the textual traditions in which Baruch plays a lead role—Baruch, 2 Baruch, 3 Baruch, and Paraleipomena Ieremiou (4 Baruch).2 These works situate themselves in the critical era of the exile and its immediate aftermath in order to reshape that history and by doing so, to contest theological, social, and political issues in the present. My focus in this paper is on Daniel and Baruch, two texts engaging the Jeremiah tradition that emerged when the Jeremiah tradition was still fluid. Daniel and Baruch contain different views concerning prophecy, not to men­ tion differing views of the Diaspora population and its relation to Jerusalem. 1  My allusion is to Frank Kermode’s well-known book, The Sense of an Ending: Studies in the Theory of Fiction (New York: Oxford University Press, 1967). 2  This is not to mention works in which the figure of Jeremiah emerges alongside of interpre­ tive motifs like the fate of the Temple implements in 2 Macc 2:1–8 or the isolated mention of a Jeremianic oracle in CD 8:20.

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The practice of confessional prayer in relation to prophecy is a crux upon which we can clearly see two contrasting perspectives on revelation and restoration. I would argue that “Baruch” was written in order to engage and extend a form of the text of Jeremiah and to figure Baruch as a learned sage and liturgical maestro who institutes the practice of efficacious confession to bring about the return from exile. For Baruch, the institution of prophecy is dead; yet the written oracular legacy of the prophet lives on. The scribal sage claims the mantle of leadership of Jewish communities both in Diaspora and in Jerusalem through his role as authoritative interpreter of the Torah and prophets. Implicitly, Baruch serves as a counter-discourse to such second century texts as Daniel and ApocJeremiah C in which angelic revelation and prophecy were considered to be a continuing means for discovering divine reality. This argument should not be entirely surprising in light of rabbinic claims to the cessation of prophecy in the Persian period, but I want to draw attention to the rhetorical means by which this extension of prophetic scrip­ ture is accomplished. The ongoing practice of confession and the integration of scripturalized confessions in evolving textual traditions were decisive fac­ tors in how the text of what we might call “Jeremiah-Baruch” was reshaped and claimed authority for itself as scripture in the era “before the Bible.” In order to substantiate this argument, we will first consider the phenomenon of confes­ sional prayer more generally, before turning to a brief treatment of Dan 9, and finally a more extended consideration of Baruch in relation to both Daniel and Jeremiah. 1

Daniel and Baruch within the Contours and Practice of Confessional Prayer

The prayers in Dan 9:4–19 and Bar 1:15–3:8 are part of a larger body of confes­ sional prayers evident in the Persian and Greco-Roman eras.3 The trauma of 3  While the number and identification of confessional prayers included in the list varies, the following prayers are usually included: Ezra 9:5–15; Neh 1:4–11; 9:6–37; Dan 9:4–19, Bar 1:15–3:8; the Prayer of Azariah; Tob 3:1–6; 3 Macc 2:1–10; 4Q393 (Communal Confession), and 4Q504 2 v–vi (the Words of the Heavenly Lights). Related texts include Solomon’s prayer of dedication at the Temple 1 Kgs 8:22–53 and the later Prayer of Manasseh. Rodney A. Werline was the first to offer a monograph-length treatment of confessional prayer, Penitential Prayer in Second Temple Judaism: The Development of a Religious Institution (SBLEJL 13; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1998). For a concise summary of scholarship on confessional prayers, see Mark Boda, “Confession as Theological Expression,” in The Origins of Penitential Prayer in Second Temple Judaism (ed. Mark Boda, Daniel K. Falk, and Rodney A. Werline, ed.; vol. 1

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the Babylonian exile played a crucial role in stimulating the development of a confessional prayer tradition in the Persian period. Such confessions, cast in the first person plural even when offered by an individual, are characterized by their extended and repeated confession of sin in the context of reviewing the history of Israel and including a petition for forgiveness.4 Confessions can be contrasted with laments, for example, which do not admit culpability for the negative situation of the lamenter. Early scholarship on confessional prayers in the Bible was informed by Claus Westermann’s form-critical and theological assessment that laments were gradually displaced by confessional prayers as a result of the exilic experience and as an attempt to justify God’s righteous­ ness in that light.5 A renewed phase of scholarship has focused in particular on the tradition history of the confessional prayers of the postexilic period, assessing, among other elements, their compositional use of scripture.6 The prayers admit guilt for wrongdoing in a corporate confession and recognize divine righteousness for punishment using, in particular, wording from Lev 26 and Deut 28 that was thought to ensure the reversal of the covenant curses of Deuteronomy. Most of the confessional prayers thus seek to put an end to negative conditions resulting from the exile, or implicitly in a later era, to the situation of Diaspora. Yet no confessional prayer, whether found as part of a narrative work, or circulating separately like the Qumran liturgical prayers 4Q393 or 4Q504–506, is identical to another one. Of the confessional prayers that populate the landscape of Jewish practice during the Greco-Roman era, the two prayers of Daniel and Baruch have been understood to have a particularly close relationship. They both share common

in Seeking the Favor of God; SBLEJL 22; Atlanta: SBL, 2006, 21–45. Cf. also Daniel Falk’s clear exposition, “Scriptural Inspiration for Penitential Prayer,” in Seeking the Favor, 2:127–158 esp. 127–39. 4  I use the term “confessional prayer” rather than “penitential prayer” because I understand penitence as a process aimed at restoration or reconciliation that involves acts in addition to recitation of prayer. “Confessional prayer” thus can be understood potentially as a part of a larger penitential sequence of practices. 5  Claus Westermann, “Struktur und Geschichte der Klage im Alten Testament,” ZAW 66 (1954): 44–80. On the scholarly genealogy of research into this topic, see the discussion of Samuel Balentine, “ ‘I Was Ready to Be Sought Out by Those Who Did Not Ask,’ ” Seeking the Favor 1:1–20, esp. 2–10. 6  The initial work of Rodney Werline and Mark Boda stimulated the constitution of an SBL Penitential Prayer Group that resulted in the publication of three volumes of collected essays on its origins and evolution; Mark J. Boda, Daniel K. Falk, Rodney A. Werline, eds., Seeking the Favor of God (3 vols.; EJL 21–23; Atlanta: SBL, 2006–2009).

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language.7 Both are also related to the developing Jeremiah tradition in their respective narrative contexts. Another common aspect is that although both works were compiled in the second century bce, they are set in Babylon in the early years of the exile.8 They are thus part of the cohort of compositions that suggest the notion of an “enduring exile,” indicating a period of continuing distress even after the return of people to the land and the rebuilding of the Temple in 515 bce.9 This common narrative setting during the exile moreover sets them apart from the three confessional prayers of Ezra-Nehemiah, which are set after the return from exile under the Persians. Yet it is the differences between the prayers in Daniel and Baruch that are particularly revealing. The contents of the prayers themselves and their respective narrative settings shape distinctive counter-narratives, in no small part because of the way they relate to Jeremiah and his oracles. In the book of 7  While some commentators have understood the relationship as one of literary dependence with Daniel serving as the model for Baruch (cf. Odil Steck, Reinhard Kratz, Das Buch Baruch, der Brief des Jeremia, Zusätze zu Ester und Daniel übersetzt und erklärt (ATD Apokryphen 5; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1998), 39, others express less certainty. Anthony Saldarini suggests that they both may have been independently adapted from an earlier work; Baruch, NIDB VI, 931; Carey A. Moore, Daniel, Esther, Jeremiah: The Additions (Bible 44; Garden City, NY: 1977), 260. The answer to their inexact similarity is likely owing to the oral ingestion and transmission of texts, particularly related to prayer practice among elite liter­ ate scribes responsible for composing cultural texts. Scribes would rely on memory rather than exact replication of the cultural repertoire.    Although there is not space in this paper to explore their relationship in detail and the role of confession in the larger narrative of Daniel, Daniel serves as a pointed contrast to Baruch in contesting the efficacy of confession. 8  The setting of the book as a whole (Dan 1) is in the immediate aftermath of Nebuchadnezzar’s destruction. The narrative setting of Dan 9 is in the time of “Darius son of Ahasuerus” who should be understood as a fictitious character. See John J. Collins, Daniel (Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1993), 348. 9  Ernest W. Nicholson noticed this [Deuteronomy and Tradition (Oxford: Blackwell, 1967)], but Michael A. Knibb was the first to discuss this phenomenon at length, “The Exile in the Intertestamental Period,” HeyJ 17 (1976): 253–72. Aside from Dan 9 and Bar, he considers 1 En. 89–90; 93:1–10; 91:11–17, Ep Jer, As. Mos., Jub. 1:9–18, CD, Tob 14:4–7, 4 Ezra, 2 Bar. Cf. Donald E. Gowan, “The Exile in Jewish Apocalyptic,” Scripture in History and Theology: Essays in Honor of J. Coert Rylaarsdam (ed. ArthurW. Merrill and Thomas W. Overholt; PTMS 17; Pittsburgh, Penn.: Pickwick, 1977), 205–23. Of more recent vintage, James M. Scott, “Exile and SelfUnderstanding of Diaspora Jews in the Greco-Roman Period,” in Exile: Old Testament, Jewish and Christian Conceptions (ed. James M. Scott; JSJSup 56; Leiden: Brill, 1997), 173–218. On the origins of the metaphorical conceptualization of the exile, see Martien Halvorson-Taylor, Enduring Exile: The Metaphorization of Exile in the Hebrew Bible (VTSup 141; Leiden: Brill, 2010).

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Daniel, Jeremiah only appears in the ninth chapter and Daniel’s relationship to Jeremiah is external to the confession itself. Baruch weaves Jeremianic lan­ guage into the composition of his confession. In this and in its narrative intro­ duction, “Baruch” self-consciously links itself to the Jeremianic corpus. 2

Daniel, Jeremiah, and the Angelic Oracle

To consider first the case of Daniel, the use of Jeremiah in Dan 9 is both explicit and thematic. Daniel “perceives in the scrolls the number of years that, accord­ ing to the word of the Lord to Jeremiah must be fulfilled for the devastation of Jerusalem: seventy years.” (Dan 9:2) While his verse and the chapter as a whole have attracted inordinate attention because of the seventy-years proph­ ecy, a small textual detail that often goes unremarked is the plural of sepher. This itself might be construed as a plurality of scrolls of Jeremianic prophecy.10 Despite this mention of writings, the use of Jeremiah in Daniel does not derive from the language of Jeremiah beyond the seventy-years concept.11 It is only on that basis that scholars have connected it to specific passages (Jer 25:11–12; Jer 29:10).12 More significant from our perspective is the unfolding of the story 10  Cf. André Lacocque offers a different view: “c’est là un témoignage important de la can­ onisation progressive des livres qui formeront deux siècles plus tard la Bible hébraïque,” in Le Livre de Daniel (Neuchâtel: Delachaux et Niestlé, 1976), 134. Collins understands the reference to books to refer presumably to the corpus of “prophets” more broadly; Daniel, 348. 11  Knibb, “The Exile,” 254. He admits one possible exception, that the word ‫ להׁשיב‬in Dan 9:25 is a reminiscence of Jer 29:10. 12  This thus stands in contrast to 2 Chr 36:19–21, which combines wording from Lev 26:34– 35 and Jer 25:9–12. The lack of Jeremianic language also calls into question Michael Fishbane’s references to “mantological exegesis” or even “divine exegesis” to refer to a presumed divine scrutiny of a finalized biblical text: “Prophetic words are no longer pre­ dominantly living speech, but rather inscribed and inscrutable data whose true meanings are an esoteric mystery revealed by God to a special adept and his pious circle.” Biblical Interpretation in Ancient Israel (New York: Clarendon Oxford University Press, 1985), 484. On Michael Fishbane’s “mantological exegesis” see, ibid., 487–95. For a critical assess­ ment of Fishbane’s use of this phrase, see Matthias Henze, “The Use of Scripture in the Book of Daniel,” in A Companion to Biblical Interpretation in Early Judaism (ed. Matthias Henze; Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 2012), 279–307. Similarly problematic is Alex Jassen’s characterization of the prophetic interpretation in Dan 9 as “revelatory exegesis.” This is especially misleading in reference to Dan 9:24–27, in which he refers to “Gabriel’s method” for discerning meaning “through careful exegesis of the prophetic scriptural writing.” This implies a close and careful interpretation of scriptural wording when in fact

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in relation to prayer. After looking in the prophetic scrolls, Daniel turns to his ancestral God and seeks an answer through prayer and supplication accompa­ nied by self-abasement of the body with fasting, sackcloth, and ashes. The confession that Daniel then offers shows clear signs of being redacted into its current narrative context.13 Unlike the rest of Daniel, the prayer itself contains Deuteronomic and other traditional phraseology composed in smooth Hebrew, free of Aramaisms. Its distinctive character is reflected in that the divine name YHWH appears six times within the prayer as a mark of the tra­ ditional covenant relationship between God and Israel. The Tetragrammaton occurs nowhere else in the book outside of Dan 9. Daniel 9:7, 11, 20 are the only places in which “Israel” as a name for the people appears in the book. While there are linguistic links between the prayer and its context, these do not extend beyond Dan 9, thus suggesting that this was part of an authorial or editorial tweaking process in order to situate and integrate the traditional prayer into position.14 While the prayer mentions the people of Judah (but does not refer to the northern region of Israel or Samaria) in Dan 9:7, the real concern as reflected in the historical prospect (Dan 9:4–14) and the petition (Dan 9:16–19) is Jerusalem and restoring the sanctuary (Dan 9:7, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20). Another distinctive and related feature of this prayer and its petition is that the character of the tem­ ple rises almost to that of personification. Daniel petitions God to “let your face shine upon your desolated sanctuary.” (Dan 9:17b)15 The use of wording Gabriel is simply described as being sent. The chapter in which he treats Daniel is enti­ tled, “Revelatory Exegesis in Second Temple Literary Traditions,” in Mediating the Divine, 213–40. For his discussion of Dan 9, see 214–21. 13  Daniel 9:4b and the conclusion in Dan 9:21 duplicate the substance of 9:3 and 9:20. Sharon Pace, Daniel (Macon, Ga.: Smyth and Helwys, 2008), 288–89. This was noted already in the late nineteenth century by August F. von Gall, Die Einheitlichkeit des Buches Daniel (Giessen: Ricker, 1895), 123–26. Anathea Portier-Young views the seams as rhetorically purposeful, “as a stylistic device aiming to highlight Daniel’s act of prayer.” Portier-Young, Apocalypse Against Empire: Theologies of Resistance in Early Judaism (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 2010), 250. 14  John Collins notes the following verbal correspondences between the prayer and its con­ text: ‫ להׂשכיל‬in vv. 13 and 22; forms of ‫ ׁשוב‬and ‫ ׂשכל‬in vv. 13 and 25; a form of ‫ ׁשמם‬in v. 17 and 27 in connection with the temple, an oath ‫ ׁשבעה‬in v. 11 is poured out ‫תתך‬, in verses 24 and 27 the same roots recur though in a different form; “supplications” ‫ תחנונים‬appears only in Dan 9 in the prayer and framework (Dan 9:3, 17, 18, 23), and finally, the word for “sin” ‫ חטא‬appears in 9:20, 24, and only elsewhere in Dan 4:24; Collins, Daniel, 348. 15  The Old Greek reads here “holy mountain” for “sanctuary” and also “for the sake of your servants, Lord.”

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from the priestly blessing of Num 6:24–26 is in itself not unique. This formula is regularly redeployed and adapted in prayers that request divine salvation (cf. Pss 31:16; 67:1; 80:3, 7, 19; 119:135) or blessing (1QS 2:2–4, 1QSb).16 Yet God’s beaming face and the divine blessing are elsewhere trained only on people, and nowhere else on the Jerusalem temple itself. Moreover, in relation to the narrative, the confessional content of the prayer is not what motivates the divine response. When the angel arrives on the scene, Gabriel tells Daniel that the divine dabar was set in motion at the very beginning of his supplications (Dan 9:23) at the time of the evening sacrifice, establishing in this instance a temporal correlation with the temple. This new revelation then unlocks the real meaning and explanation of the Jeremianic writings, with its extension of the time of exile to 490 years. In sum, Daniel’s lesson is that prophetic texts such as Jeremiah require additional angelicallymediated revelation to reveal their deeper meaning. Acts of prayer and abase­ ment can spur such a response, but the confession itself will not effect the end of exile, nor alter the divine eschatological plan. Thus for Daniel, the “end of Jeremiah” lies not in the events of deportation, but stretches far beyond that book’s historical horizon. 3

Confessing with Baruch in Babylon and Jerusalem

In conceiving the relationship between the prayer in Dan 9, Baruch, Jeremiah, and other texts, it is also helpful to consider the cogent definition of “living tradition” offered by Alasdair Macintyre as “a historically extended, socially embodied argument, and an argument precisely in part about the goods which constitute the tradition.”17 Part of the “socially embodied argument” we can see in Baruch lies in the self-conscious construction of an ideal scribal sage and author of scripture, a role promoted at the expense of the active office of the prophet in relation to Judean communities in the land and Diaspora. The book of Baruch as it appears in modern Bibles comprises five chapters that are intent on shaping a view of a society and its future rather differ­ ent from that of Daniel and his fellow maskilim. The narrative introduction (Bar 1:1–16) provides the frame for contextualizing the long prayer in 16  Michael Fishbane, Biblical Interpretation in Ancient Israel (Oxford: Clarendon, 1985), 329–34 and Bilhah Nitzan, Qumran Prayer & Religious Poetry (STDJ 12; Leiden: Brill, 1994), 145–72. 17  Alasdair Macintyre, After Virtue (Notre Dame, Ind.: University of Notre Dame Press, 1984), 222.

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Bar 1:15–3:8; a poem extolling wisdom as Torah (3:9–4:4) that resonates with Sir 24 and Job 28; and a poem of consolation to and about Zion that anticipates the return from exile (4:5–5:9) in language drawn in part from 2 Isaiah.18 There is no scholarly consensus on the date of Baruch’s composition, though most settle for the Hellenistic period, with the second century bce being a favored date. It is thus roughly contemporaneous with the book of Daniel.19 While Daniel’s use of Jeremiah is limited to a reference to his “books” and to the literal reference to the seventy-years prophecy that must be interpreted by the angelic mediator, Baruch’s use of Jeremiah is pervasive, if cloaked and subtle. The relationship of Baruch to Jeremiah can be considered from three aspects. The first two relate to the intertextual relationship with Jeremianic language. The third is related to the manuscript tradition of Jeremiah and Baruch. Baruch’s engagement with the Jeremianic tradition appears most clearly in the introduction (Bar 1:1–14) and in the second half of the prayer (Bar 2:19–3:8), which displays no overlap with the prayer in Dan 9. 3.1 Contextualizing the Narrative Introduction of Baruch 1:1–14 The narrative introduction of Baruch presents the book as a whole as explicit teaching, with an emphasis on the written authority of the scroll and Baruch as its author. Baruch is connected with five generations of figures known in connection with their Levitical origins and scribal culture.20 The idea of writ­ ten communication between the Diaspora and Jerusalem is a motif familiar 18  The issue of the “unity” of Baruch will not concern us here. Some scholars view Baruch as the product of a single author (e.g., Jonathan A. Goldstein, Odil H. Steck). Others see it as a redacted compilation of constituent sources (Anthony Saldarini, Antonius H. J. Gunneweg, Carey Moore). I find the latter view more compelling. Steck’s creative sugges­ tion that the book relates to different parts of Jer 29 is intriguing (Bar 1:15–3:8 to Jer 29:5– 7; Bar 3:9–4:4 to Jer 29: 8–9; Bar 4:5–5:9 to Jer 29:10–14 (Das Apokryphe Baruch: Studien zu Rezeption und Konzentration “kanonischer” Ü berlieferung [FRLANT 160; Göttingen: Vandenkoeck & Ruprecht, 1993], 10); however, the difficulty with it is that Jer 29 suggests that the return will happen only after seventy years. Baruch depicts the end of exile as imminent (cf. Bar 4:25, 3–37; 5:4). 19  For a comprehensive treatment of scholarship on this issue over the past two hundred years, see David G. Burke, The Poetry of Baruch: Reconstruction and Analysis of the Original Hebrew Text of Baruch 3:9–5:9 (SBLSCS 10; Chico, Calif.: Scholars Press, 1982), 26–29. 20  Kipp Davis, “Prophets of Exile: 4Q Apocryphon of Jeremiah C, Apocryphal Baruch, and the Efficacy of the Second Temple,” JSJ (2013): 497–529, at 502, n. 14. Cf. also the longer discus­ sions of Moshe Weinfeld, Deuteronomy and the Deuteronomic School (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1971), 244–319 and Leo G. Perdue, “Baruch among the Sages,” in Uprooting and Planting: Essays on Jeremiah for Leslie Allen (ed. John Goldingay; LHB/OTS 459; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 2007), 260–90, esp. 275–76.

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from Jeremiah’s letter sent “from Jerusalem to the remaining elders among the exiles” (Jer 29:1–3/LXX 36: 1–3). Yet, whereas Jeremiah’s prophetic word goes from center to periphery, Baruch’s instructive scroll moves in the opposite direction, from Babylon to Jerusalem. Moreover, Baruch’s work is longer than a letter and includes liturgical instruction for use at the temple itself, advocat­ ing particular prayer practices of confession and ritual mourning. Baruch is said to have read “the words of this book” to Jeconiah, king of Judah and to all the people in Babylon by the River Soud (Bar 1:3–4).21 He then sends the scroll to the high priest and people in Jerusalem with instructions to pray for Nebuchadnezzar (1:11) and to pray for the exiles (1:13). Baruch introduces the prayer by designating the time and place for its recitation as well as making it a communal obligation: “And you shall read aloud this book that we are send­ ing you to make your confession in the house of the Lord on the days of the festivals and at appointed times.” (1:14) The introduction to Baruch shows connections not only to Jeremiah, but to the so-called 4QApocr Jer C manuscripts, particularly 4QApocr Jer Cd (4Q389 1).22 Indeed, the unique appearance of the “river Sour” in both texts suggests a relationship through tradition history.23 There is not space to detail the possible interconnections among these manuscripts.24 Devorah Dimant 21  It is now clear from the history of traditions parallel in 4QApocrJer Cd (4Q389 1 7) that the Greek Σουδ (1:4) is a misspelling of the Hebrew ‫ סור‬owing to the common confu­ sion between the Hebrew letters resh and dalet. See Lutz Doering, Ancient Jewish Letters and the Beginning of Christian Epistolography (WUNT 298; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2012), 159. This was originally proposed in an unpublished paper presented at the IOQS 1992 by Devorah Dimant, as “The Apocryphon of Jeremiah,” 20, n. 18. The published version did not discuss 4Q389a; as cited in Brooke, “Parabiblical Prophets,” 283, n.53. 22  For the editio princeps, see Devorah Dimant, DJD 30, 91–260. The manuscripts do not contain any overlap with each other, thus raising the question of whether they are one work or not. 23  The Greek translator’s confusion of the Hebrew resh with dalet is evident in the Septuagint’s rendering of this elsewhere unmentioned river as “Soud” (Bar 1:4); Devorah Dimant, “From the Book of Jeremiah to the Qumranic Apocryphon of Jeremiah,” DSD 20 (2013): 452–71 at 465. As Dimant points out following Steck, the Syriac Peshiṭta reflects knowledge of the form Sour, thus supporting the idea that the Syriac was familiar with the Hebrew recension of Baruch, 465, n. 56. 24  Consider the essay by Eibert Tigchelaar in this volume. Cf. also Lutz Doering, “Jeremia in Babylonien und Ägypten: Mündliche und schriftliche Toraparänese für Exil und Diaspora nach 4QApocryphon of Jeremiah C,” in Frühjudentum und Neues Testament im Horizont Biblischer Theologie: Mit einem Anhang zum Corpus Judaeo-Hellenisticum Novi Testamenti (ed. Wolfgang Kraus and Karl-Wilhelm Niebuhr, and Lutz Doering; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2003), 50–79. Cf. most recently, the work of Devorah Dimant, “From the Book of

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has recently argued that there are similarities in three details between Bar 1:1–4 and 4Q389 1: (1) there is a gathering where something is read in public; (2) attendees are Israelites living on the river Sour; and (3) the date of the assembly is recorded. On that basis, she concludes, “it may be assumed plau­ sibly that Baruch was also involved in the episode related in the Apocryphon of Jeremiah C, although his name is not preserved.” (emphasis mine).25 I would argue the reverse.26 The differences between them suggest they are not part of a single harmonious cloth. The date of the assembly is different in the two: 4Q389 1 is set in the thirty-sixth year of exile (531 bce), whereas Baruch is set in the fifth year from the destruction, i.e. 586 bce. Another difference that is papered over is the role of Baruch and Jeremiah in each. Given the fact that Jeremiah is never mentioned in the text of Baruch, and Baruch does not appear in the extant ApocrJer C manuscripts, a more cogent argument is that the text (or texts) were written as counter narratives in order to isolate and distinguish the activities of the scribe from those of the prophet. For example, 4Q385a depicts Jeremiah as refusing to intercede on the people’s behalf, but lament­ ing instead, and actively working as a prophet pronouncing oracles concern­ ing idolatry to the exiles in Egypt. This stands in contrast to Baruch, who is centrally concerned with intercessory prayer, even instructing the population in Jerusalem to pray for the exiles (Bar 1:13).27 The distinctive characterization of Baruch and Jeremiah can be further substantiated by looking at the confes­ sional prayer. 3.2 The Distinctiveness of Baruch 1:15–3:8 Like Dan 9 and all other confessional prayers, Bar 1:15–3:8 is thickly allusive to scripture. The prayer itself begins as the explicit instruction from Baruch of the appropriate words to say, starting with an acknowledgement of divine

Jeremiah,” cited in note 23 above, and Kipp Davis, “Prophets of Exile.” Davis also thinks Jeremiah Apocryphon C “shows a striking similarity” with the prologue of Baruch (ibid., 502), but he ignores the salient fact that Jeremiah is never mentioned in Baruch. 25  Dimant, “From the Book of Jeremiah,” 468. 26  See as well, the argument of Kipp Davis that suggests that Egypt and Babylon within the 4Q Apocrphon of Jeremiah C materials represent two different symbolic geographic places with correspondingly different perspectives on the presumed unfolding of the 490-year scheme, “Torah-Performance and History in the Golah: Rewritten Bible or ‘Re-presentational’ Authority in the Apocryphon of Jeremiah C,” in Celebrating the Dead Sea Scrolls: A Canadian Collection (ed. Peter W. Flint, Jean Duhaime, and Kyung S. Baek; EJL 30; Atlanta: SBL, 2011), 467–95. 27  For later texts that put Jeremiah in Babylon, see 4 Bar. 4:5, 3 Bar. 10: 33, Seder ‘Olam Rabbah 26, y. t. Sanhedrin 1:19a.

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righteousness and the guilt of the inhabitants of Judah and Jerusalem (1:15– 2:10). The second part (2:11–19) is marked by the transitional, “and now” (weatah), a common feature of confessional prayers, which signals the turn to the current situation. It acknowledges God as liberator in the exodus and offers a threefold confession (2:12) hearkening to 1 Kings 8:47 and a petition for deliver­ ance from the situation of exile. The third part of the prayer (2:20–35) recalls divine oracles that have been fulfilled in the process of the exile and destruc­ tion of the Temple. The final part of the prayer (3:1–8) shifts rhetorically to give voice to the current generation, the descendants of those who have gone into exile.28 Though innocent, they nonetheless must confess the sins of their ancestors.29 Scholars have long recognized the verbal parallels between the prayers in Dan 9:4–20 and Baruch 1:14–3:8. Steck is representative in assuming that Baruch was dependent on Dan 9. His dating of Baruch to the time of the high priest Alcimus thus hinges on the twin assumptions of a Maccabean date for the final form of MT Daniel and of Baruch’s direct literary depen­ dence on Dan 9.30 Yet the manuscript evidence from Qumran relating to Dan 9 that might support this argument, published after Steck wrote his commentary, is ambiguous.31 Even many scholars who do not date the work so precisely assume this unilateral dependence in order to figure relative 28  Moore argued for four different parts to the prayer each of which may have constituted an independent prayer, Bar 1:15–2:5; 2:6–10; 2:11–35; 3:1–8, each with its own distinctive geographical setting, Daniel 291–94. Such over-specification has received rightful criti­ cism on form-critical grounds. See the discussion of Odil Hannes Steck who argues for the coherence of the prayer as a piece, Das Apocryphe Baruchbuch: Studien zu Rezeption und Konzentration “kanonischer” Überlieferung (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1993), 93–94. 29  The ancestors are mentioned three times in this section (Bar 3:5, 7, 8); Michael D. Matlock, Discovering the Traditions of Prose Prayers in Early Jewish Literature (LSTJ 81; New York: T&T Clark, 2012), 109–10. 30  Steck, Das Apokryphe Baruchbuch, 88–92. 31  Eight extant manuscripts have been identified with the canonical book of Daniel. 4Q116 is the only manuscript that suggests any overlap with the prayer of Dan 9. It is written in a cruder script than other manuscripts relating to Daniel. Its much smaller size than the other manuscripts (8 cm) seems to suggest it may have circulated independently, perhaps as a private copy. Eugene Ulrich, who edited the Daniel scrolls, allows for the manuscript as either an excerpt from Daniel or a prayer that was used as the source for Dan 9: “The early date of the scroll makes one wonder whether it is a copy derived from the full Book of Daniel or rather a copy of an originally separate prayer which was then incorporated into chapter 9.” “The Text of Daniel in the Qumran Scrolls,” in The Book of Daniel: Composition and Reception (2 vols.; ed. John J. Collins and Peter W. Flint; VTSup 83; Leiden: Brill, 2001), 573–85 at 582. See also the brief discussion of John Collins, Daniel.

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dating.32 In the overlapping sections, however, variations that reflect adapta­ tion of a possible shared source reveal their distinctive rhetorical strategies. A close comparison of the two reveals that the common phrases are almost always adapted and amplified, but both Daniel and Baruch show such amplifi­ cations and deletions.33 To take just one example from a similar petition: Pray also for us to the Lord our God, for we have sinned against the Lord our God, and to this day the anger of the Lord and his wrath have not turned away from us. (Bar 2:13) O Lord, in view of all your righteous acts, let your anger and wrath, we pray, turn away from your city Jerusalem, your holy mountain; because of our sins and the iniquities of our ancestors, Jerusalem and your people have become a disgrace among all our neighbors. (Dan 9:16) The ideas and wording are quite similar at points (the turning away of wrath), but even where similar wording occurs in a given verse, it occurs in different formulations, here and elsewhere. The comparison in this case reveals Daniel’s special concern with the sanctity of Jerusalem, which we have already dis­ cussed. Moreover in some of the presumed parallel passages, Daniel resembles other confessional prayers or scriptural wording more closely than Baruch’s phraseology.34 In the end, it is impossible to determine clear literary depen­ dence in either direction.35 32  Matlock, Discovering, 51, J. Edward Wright, Baruch Ben Neriah: From Biblical Scribe to Apocalyptic Seer (Columbia, S.C.: University of South Carolina Press, 2003), 52, 142; Rodney A. Werline, Penitential Prayer, 65–108; Bernard N. Wambacq, “Les prières de Baruch (I 15–ii 19) et de Daniel (ix 5–19),” Bib 40 (1959): 463–75. 33  See the systematic treatment of André Kabasele Mukenge, L’Unité Littéraire du Livre de Baruch (EB 38; Paris: Gabalda, 1998), 176–202. 34  The great majority have considered Baruch to be literarily dependent on Daniel. For a concise discussion of the issues related to literary dependence in one direction or another or common source, see Carey Moore, The Additions, 291–93. A more recent evaluation of scholarship can be found in Kabasele Mukenge, L’Unité Littéraire, 160–75. A minority of scholars have considered the two as both dependent on a common written source; e.g. J. T. Marshall, “The Book of Baruch,” A Dictionary of the Bible (ed. James Hastings; Edinburgh: Clark, 1898) 1:251–54. Others have suggested the prayers independently drew on existing liturgical prayers used in the synagogue; R. H. Charles, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Book of Daniel (Oxford: Clarendon, 1929), 227; Louis F. Hartman and Alexander A. Di Lella. The Book of Daniel (AB 23; Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1978), 248. 35  Some scholars express more doubt about tracing dependence. Anthony Saldarini sug­ gests that both the prayers of Dan 9 and Baruch may be dependent on an earlier work, “Baruch,” NIDB VI, 931.

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Aside from the question of the relative direction of intertextuality, some scholars have taken the use of earlier texts more broadly in the book as a sign of the composer’s lack of creativity. One example is Carey Moore’s assessment: “A mosaic of older biblical passages, I Baruch has virtually no new or original religious ideas.”36 His negative assessment about the prayer’s content ignores the way in which it serves to characterize the figure of Baruch as a learned sage. Baruch is depicted as a liturgical teacher who has mastery over the corpus of the Torah and the Prophets such that he can compose a textually dense con­ fessional prayer that is appropriate to the situation. Think on analogy with a jazz musician whose ability to improvise on melodies, harmonies, or time sig­ natures reveals his skill. The unique character of scripturalization in Baruch’s prayer depicts him as consummately knowledgeable about the scriptural rep­ ertoire such that he can adapt and interpret it. The figure of Baruch can thus be said to embody the living tradition. In any case, the parallels between the two prayers do not extend beyond Bar 2:19. Their respective petitions are almost entirely different (Dan 9:16–19; Bar 2:11–3:8). The influence of Jeremiah is apparent most clearly in the petition of the prayer. 3.3 Baruch’s Prayer and the Reception of Jeremiah A unique feature of Baruch’s prayer absent from all other confessional prayers is that it contains four citation formulas that use language introducing Mosaic or prophetic oracles, in Bar 2:2–3, 20–23, 24b, and 29–35.37 Two reflect indirect discourse (Bar 2:2–3, 24b); two offer quotes of “divine speech” (Bar 2:20–23, 29–35). As we have mentioned, the issue of the continuity of prophecy in the Greco-Roman period was clearly a contested one in the centuries leading up to the turn of the Common Era.38 For those who trusted only in the prophets of 36  Moore, Additions, 259. 37  André Kabasele Mukenge, “Les Citations Interne en Ba. 1, 15–3, 8. Un Procédé Rédactionnel et Actualisant,” Le Muséon 108 (1995): 211–37 at 212. 38  In the Qumran scrolls, the fact that there was legislation against false prophecy (CD 6:1–2) and that they kept a list of false prophets (4Q389) suggests the issue was quite a live one. As George Brooke has observed: “[Thus] the compositions that speak of false prophets strongly suggest the view that it was still possible to operate as a true prophet,” “Prophecy and Prophets in the Dead Sea Scrolls: Looking Backwards and Forwards,” Prophets, Prophecy, and Prophetic Texts in the Dead Sea Scrolls (Michael H. Floyd and Robert D. Haak; LHB/OTS 427; New York: T&T Clark, 2006), 151–65 at 159. Among other texts, he discusses 4Q375 1 I: 4, 6; CD 6:1–2, 1QHa 12:16, and portions of the Temple Scroll. This can be seen in polemic about certain kinds of revelation and its mediators. Ben Sira famously expresses his mistrust of dreams (Sir 34:1–7 cf. Jer 29:8). In effect, for Ben Sira and his kind, the only good prophet was a dead prophet, to be honored and engaged

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old, the discernment of oracles and their fulfillment was crucial in making the prophecy continue to bear fruit.39 According to the Deuteronomic perspective, the assurance of true prophecy was ultimately found only in their fulfillment. The one who recognizes and pronounces such fulfillment, it would thus seem, is boosted in authoritative status.40 The way in which the prayer composed by Baruch both discerns the fulfill­ ment of prophetic oracles and creates its own oracles, while never naming the great prophet, thus reveals some rhetorical verve. The first oracle in Bar 2:20– 23 is introduced as divine speech declared “by your servants the prophets” and introduced by the divine oracle formula, “Thus says the Lord.” The oracle calls on the exiles to serve the king of Babylon in language that recalls MT Jer 27:12 (LXX Jer 34:12). It includes a near-citation of first person divine speech from Jeremiah’s Temple Sermon (Bar 2:23//Jer 7:34). The prayer affirms that the oracle has been fulfilled through the devastation of Jerusalem and the desola­ tion of the land in its entirety. As Reinhard Kratz characterizes the importance of this first oracle: “Diese hier zitierte Ankündigung ist nichts weniger als der Boden auf dem die Verfasserschaft von Bar steht, denkt, und Israel lehrt. Sie bildet aber in jeder Hinsicht auch schon die Grundlage für das unmittelbar Folgende.”41 And what follows most immediately is another oracle. The second oracle is in Bar 2:29–35: 27And you have done to us, O Lord, our God, according to all your fair­ ness and according to all your great compassion 28as you spoke by the hand of your servant Moyses in the day when you commanded him to write your law before the sons of Israel, saying, 29“If you do not obey my voice, surely this great, voluminous buzzing will turn into a small one among the nations, there where I will scatter them. 30For I knew that they would not obey me, because the people are stiff-necked. And they will for his written legacy. The role of scholars and worthies in the present was to interpret the collection of oracles accurately from the past, waiting for them to be realized (Sir 39:1–2) 39  Ben Sira exemplifies the sage who is concerned with prophecies and their interpretation (Sir 39:2). Sirach includes a petition about prophetic fulfillment in his own long confes­ sional prayer: “Bear witness to those whom you created in the beginning and fulfill the prophecies spoken in your name.” Reward those who wait for you and let your prophets be found trustworthy.” (Sir 36:20b–21, cf. Tob 14:4–5). 40  On the respective roles of Ben Sira as a hakham and Daniel’s “apocalyptic scribalism” as constituting two rival discourses for claiming knowledge, see Carol A. Newsom, The Self as Symbolic Space: Constructing Identity and Community at Qumran (STDJ 52; Leiden: Brill, 2004), 39–50. 41  Reinhard Kratz, Das Buch Baruch, 43–44.

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return to their heart in the land of their exile, 31and they will know that I am the Lord their God. And I will give them a heart and hearing ears. 32and they will praise me in the land of their exile, and they will remem­ ber my name, 33and they will turn away from their hard back and from their wicked deeds, because they will remember the way of their fathers who sinned before the Lord 34And I will return them to the land, which I swore to their fathers, to Abraam and to Isaak and to Iakob, and they will rule over it, and I will multiply them, and they will not diminish 35I will establish with them an everlasting covenant, that I be god to them and they be a people to me, and I will not disturb again my people Israel from the land that I have given them.42 The oracle is identified specifically as part of the Mosaic Torah, but signifi­ cantly, in recalling the divine command to Moses to write the law in the pres­ ence of the Israelites, the passage summons the Deuteronomic recasting of the law (cf. Deut 27:3, 8) rather than the gift of the law in Exodus in which Moses is alone with God on Sinai when he writes on the tablets (Exod 34:27–28). This emphasis on writing is not incidental in my view; it serves to enhance Baruch’s status, as the writer, as Mosaic heir. The oracle recognizes the fulfillment of the prophecy of destruction related to disobedience concerning the Mosaic law (Bar 2:29), and it includes wording from oracles of hope that foresee the repentance of the people in exile, the end of the Diaspora, and the creation of an everlasting covenant (Jer 32:40/LXX 39:40) with the promise that the people will remain in the land forever. The inclusion of these two “prophetic” oracles in the prayer is important rhetorically in relation to the status of Baruch. As the exilic leader cast as the author of the prayer, Baruch is the one understood to identify and discern both those prophetic oracles that have been fulfilled and those still imminently awaiting fulfillment. At the same time, the wording of these oracular prophe­ cies represents a creative conflation of authoritative language, both from the “prophets”—again, Jeremiah is not mentioned—and from the prophecy of Mosaic Torah. “Baruch” is thus also writing his own prophetic oracles! The final section of Baruch’s prayer (Bar 3:1–8) shifts focus to the current generation.43 It requests forgiveness for the sins of the ancestors, mentioned 42  All English citations from Baruch are from the NETS: Albert Pietersma and Benjamin G. Wright, A New English Translation of the Septuagint (New York: Oxford University Press, 2007). 43  Moore argues for four different parts to the prayer, each of which may have constituted an independent prayer, Baruch 1:15–2:5; 2:6–10; 2:11–35; 3:1–8, each with its own distinctive

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three times in the section (Bar 3:5, 7, 8).44 The claim is that God has trans­ formed the current generation which is free of sin, yet being punished for the sins of their ancestors: 5Do not remember the iniquities of our ancestors, but in this crisis remember your power and your name. 6For you are the Lord our God, and it is you, O Lord, whom we will praise. 7For you have put the fear of you in our hearts so that we would call upon your name; and we will praise you in our exile, for we have put away from our hearts all the iniquity of our ancestors who sinned against you. 8See, we are today in our exile where you have scattered us, to be reproached and cursed and punished for all the iniquities of our ancestors, who forsook the Lord our God. The final two verses of the confession are significant for two reasons. While they are not framed as a prophetic oracle, they signal a fulfillment of the prophecy from Jer 32:40 (LXX 39:40), in which a new covenant brings with it the promise that God would put the fear of him in their hearts. Yet that ora­ cle is also interpreted. In Jer 32:40, God states “I will put the fear of you in their hearts so they will not turn from me.” The covenant is also interpreted in such a way that the internalized fear of God is the factor that permits them to invoke God in prayer.45 The very ability to confess sins thus reflects the ful­ fillment of a Jeremianic prophecy (Jer 29). Baruch 3:7 explicitly describes the geographical setting (Daniel, 291–94). Such over-specification has received rightful criti­ cism on form-critical grounds. Cf. the discussion of Steck who argues for the coherence of the prayer as a piece, Das Apokryphe Baruchbuch, 93–94. Baruch 3:1–8 is the least cohesive part of the prayer both because of the shift to the current generation and the fact that God is here alone in Baruch addressed as Almighty (παντοκράτωρ). 44  Matlock, Discovering, 109–10. 45  The connection between seeking God in exile and the ability to pray is found also in the Words of the Heavenly Luminaries: You have remembered Your covenant whereby You brought us forth from Egypt while the nations looked on. You have not abandoned us among the nations; rather, You have shown covenant mercies to Your people Israel in all [the] lands to which You have exiled them. You have again placed it on their hearts to return to You, to obey Your voice [accord­ ing] to all that You have commanded through Your servant Moses. [In]deed, You have poured out Your holy spirit upon us, [br]inging Your blessings to us. You have caused us to seek You in our time of tribulation, [that we might po]ur out a prayer when Your chasten­ ing was upon us. . . . (‎4Q‎504 (4QDibHam-a)‎‎18‎:1‎ 0–18‎)‎ Targum Jonathan to Jer 32:40 reflects a similar reading that the “fear in the heart” enables prayer or worship.

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purpose of the transformational fear as the ability to pray and offer praise. The oracle as rewritten by Baruch with its interpretive explanation also proclaims its fulfillment through the very prayer that Baruch, the scribe, has composed for the people to pray. What is more, in this confessional prayer, Baruch has effaced the name of his great master. The close of the prayer thus serves a cen­ tral rhetorical aim of the book as a whole: to elevate the status of Baruch as a Torah-and-Prophets interpreter par excellence, at the expense of the role of the active prophetic office.46 To summarize the characterization of Baruch: he is a creative and inno­ vative composer of confessional prayer. Such a scripturalized prayer depicts the one who composes it as a learned adept, one who knows scripture so well he can produce this kind of piece. It is not prayer that has been learned by rote. Whereas Daniel models through his prayer an exemplary ideal that his audience might achieve, Baruch becomes an explicit liturgical maestro, who teaches not only his community in Babylon, but also his compatriots in Jerusalem, implicitly even the temple establishment, how to pray. In doing so, from a narrative perspective, Baruch also provides an etiology of confessional prayer practice. This was the “first” such confession offered, five years into the exile (Bar 1:2) as a means for bringing an end to the exile and for reconstituting the people both in Babylon and Judah. Unlike Daniel’s confessional prayer and acts of bodily affliction, which are portrayed as a spontaneous response to his inquiry into Jeremiah’s writings, the prayer in Baruch reaches beyond the narrative itself, to claim a normative and regular ritual status in the lives of Jewish communities in Babylon and the land. Finally, as author of this prayer, Baruch is not simply scribe and tradent, but creative author of prophetic oracles as part of prayer. Baruch thus implic­ itly subverts the role and function of Jeremiah, leaving for dead the ancestral prophet, but leaving alive and powerful in both Judea and the Diaspora context of Babylon, the authoritative figure of a sage and heir, not simply of Jeremiah but of Moses. This liturgical leader implicitly wears the mantle of kings David (as seen in 1 Chr 29, 11QPsa 27) and Solomon (1 Kgs 8) as well, a figure who determines the circumstances and timing of prayer at the Temple. Becoming Jeremiah: The Ritualization of Baruch and the Composition of Jeremiah Let us return to our initial question: “How does the book of Jeremiah end?” For some in the Greco-Roman period, it ended with Baruch’s writing. We have traced the internal rhetorical factors involved in Baruch’s compositional use of 3.4

46  And for that matter, the sacrificial role of the priests which is never mentioned in Baruch.

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Jeremiah and its extension through a narrative set in the early exilic period and the composition of a confessional prayer infused with creative oracular fulfil­ ment. In Bar 1:14 he issues the liturgical directive: “And you shall read aloud this scroll that we are sending you, to make your confession in the house of the Lord on the days of the festivals and at appointed seasons.” A rhetorical sleight-of-hand is thereby lodged in this text. When performed as directed in and by the narrative, the prayer and indeed the entire book gain authority both as scripture and liturgical ritual alongside and through the agency of its pseud­ onymous scribal author. This amounts to what the anthropologist Catherine Bell has referred to as the “textualization of ritual” and the simultaneous “ritu­ alization of text.”47 Moreover, there is also evidence external to Baruch that connects it to the developing text of Jeremiah. The transmission of Baruch’s tricky book cannot be severed from the transmission of the writing/s of Jeremiah. While schol­ ars have debated the unity of Baruch, there is nonetheless a consensus that the narrative introduction and the prayer were composed in Hebrew.48 Henry St. John Thackeray was the first to make the argument for a Hebrew form of Jeremiah that was appended by the book of Baruch.49 He argued that there were two translators of Jeremiah into Greek, one responsible for Jer 1–29:8; the second for the rest of Jeremiah (LXX).50 Based on the manuscript evidence 47  Catherine Bell, “The Ritualization of Text and the Textualization of Ritual in the Codification of Taoist Liturgy,” HR (1988): 366–92. She also discussed the concept in her signal work Ritual Theory, Ritual Practice (New York: Oxford, 2009). 48  Johan J. Kneucker includes a retroverted Hebrew translation along with commentary in Das Buch Baruch (Leipzig: Brackhaus, 1879). Cf. also the remarks of Henry St. John Thackeray, The Septuagint and Jewish Worship: A Study of Origins: The Schweich Lectures 1920 (London: British Academy, 1921), 86, who also points to marginal notes on Baruch in Origen’s Syro-Hexaplar that state “not in the Hebrew” that have been ignored or explained away by subsequent scholars, e.g., Emanuel Tov, The Book of Baruch (Missoula, Mont.: Scholars, 1975). 49  Thackeray, The Septuagint and Jewish Worship, 28–36. 50  Thackeray used the marked shift in distribution of the prophetic formula “thus says the Lord” as a decisive factor though there were other lexical discrepancies used as well. The first translator used “τάδε λέγει κύριος,” while the second translator favored the for­ mula, “οὕτως εἶπεν κύριος” (The Septuagint and Jewish Worship, 30–31). “That translator β was the weaker scholar of the two appears from some curious examples of what may be called ‘imitation Hebrew’ or the employment of words or phrases of which the only link with the Hebrew is a resemblance in sound, while they entirely fail to reproduce the sense,” The Septuagint and Jewish Worship, 32. Georg Fischer has made the argument for a single Greek translator, Fischer and Andreas Vonach, “Tendencies in the LXX Version of Jeremiah,” in Der Prophet wie Mose: Studien zum Jeremiahbuch (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz,

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from Qumran, Eugene Ulrich and Emmanuel Tov have argued for the existence of two “editions” of Jeremiah in the Greco-Roman period, one resembling the wording and order of the MT; the other closer to the Septuagint version of Jeremiah.51 Tov has also argued, following Thackeray but with his own philo­ logical logic, that the second translator of Jeremiah also revised the translation toward the Hebrew.52 While there has been some criticism of Tov’s criteria and argument for a revision, his argument for a Hebrew Vorlage of the Old Greek translation of Jeremiah that included Bar 1:1–3:8 is cogent and has been broadly accepted.53 Pierre-Maurice Bogaert has also discussed the role of Baruch in the Septuagint ordering of Jeremiah. Jeremiah’s prophecy to Baruch comes near the end of the collection in the Septuagint (LXX 51:32–35=MT 45:1–5). The prophecy predicts tearing down and plucking up in the land, but Baruch is promised that his life will spared wherever he may go. Bogaert and others have interpreted this sequence as a kind of commissioning of Baruch as Jeremiah’s prophetic successor.54 If we can assume a Hebrew compilation of Jeremiah already in the Greco-Roman period that resembles the Septuagint ordering 2011), 64–72 at 71. Consider also the comment of Albert Pietersma, “Slowly but surely the conclusion is being forced upon me that the Greek translation of Jeremiah is the most complex book in the biblical Greek corpus.” “Jeremiah and the Land of Azazel,” Studies in the Hebrew Bible, Qumran, and Septuagint Presented to Eugene Ulrich (ed. Peter W. Flint, Emanuel Tov, and James VanderKam; VTSup 101; Leiden: Brill, 2006), 403–13 at 403. 51  See most recently, Emmanuel Tov, Text Criticism of the Hebrew Bible Third Edition Revised and Expanded (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2012), 286–294. 52  This was the work of Tov’s Harvard dissertation, The Septuagint Translation of Jeremiah and Baruch: A Discussion of an Early Revision of the LXX of Jeremiah 29–52 and Baruch 1:1–3:8 (HSM 8; Missoula, Mont.: Scholars, 1976), especially 111–33. 53  For a critique of Tov’s theory concerning the revision toward a Hebrew text, see HermannJosef Stipp, JNSL 17 (1991): 117–28. Cf. also Albert Pietersma, “From Greek Isaiah to Greek Jeremiah,” Isaiah in Context: Studies in Honour of Arie van der Kooij on the Occasion of His Sixty-Fifth Birthday (ed. Michael N. van der Meer et al.; VTSup 138; Leiden: Brill, 2010), 359–87. Pietersma offers a critique of Tov’s method in that he pays attention only to the differences and similarities between the two “bi-sections” and does not pay attention to the differences and similarities within each section. He thus presupposes his bi-section which forces data without a sufficient control (ibid, 362). 54  Pierre-Maurice Bogaert, “Le personnage de Baruch et l’histoire du live de Jérémie: Aux origines du Livre deutérocanonique de Baruch,” in International Congress on New Testament Studies (ed. Elizabeth A. Livingstone; Berlin: Akademie-Verlag, 1982), 73–81; Martin Kessler, “Jeremiah Chapters 26–45 Reconsidered,” JNES 27 (1968): 81–88 at 86 and Jack R. Lundbom, “Baruch, Seraiah, and Expanded Colophons in the Book of Jeremiah,” JSOT 36 (1986): 89–114 esp. 100–1.

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and that Baruch was included in this sequence, then “Jer 51 LXX” served as a transitional chapter to connect the Jeremiah tradition to the natural succes­ sor of Jeremiah, Baruch. Baruch in his own book is thus implicitly writing as an extension of the Jeremiah legacy, and would in fact be considered as such by many early tradents, at least in Christian circles. What we now consider “Baruch” was consistently cited as part of Jeremiah in the Latin Church Fathers at least through the eighth century.55 Baruch “himself” thus in effect writes new scripture. Moreover, this scriptural addition can be considered both prophecy and liturgical text through its inclusion of prayer, whether this work was ever performed as instructed or not. 4 Conclusion The Talmud distinguishes two types of men who preserve tradition. The first is one who has learned by rote and can recite from memory the texts of all preserved tradition, thus making him effectively an “oral book.” The second kind is one who not only receives what is handed down with its inherent contradictions, but who also creates with these something new. According to Gershom Scholem, the “truly learned man is the one who is bound to tradition through his inquiries.”56 We can understand the portrayals of Daniel but espe­ cially Baruch as truly learned men, those who know and create for the present while inquiring of the past and wrestling from it a new word. In addition to the figuration of Daniel and Baruch, we have considered the textual products of Daniel and in particular Baruch in terms of how they engage intertextually and stretch the Jeremiah tradition. To relate this paper to the theme of the conference on which this volume is based: how can we understand the development of these texts in terms of the broader question of the Second Temple Jewish literary corpus? Hindy Najman has described such fluid and dynamic texts in relation to “traditionary 55  Pierre-Maurice Bogaert, “Le Nom de Baruch dans la littérature pseudépigraphique: l’apocalypse syriaque et le livre deutérocanonique,” in La Littérature Juive entre Tenach et Mischna: Quelques Problèmes (ed. Willem C. van Unnik; Leiden: Brill, 1974), 56–72 at 63. The citation of Bar 3:9–38 was particularly frequent in sacramentaries because it was used in the Roman liturgy on the Saturday before Pentecost and as part of the Easter Vigil. The Greek Church Fathers offer a more complicated picture (cf. ibid., 64–66). The Apostolic Constitutions 5:20 offers evidence that Baruch (named as such) was part of Jewish liturgy, perhaps as part of the 9th of Av service; see the discussion of Thackeray, The Septuagint and Jewish Worship, 107–9. 56  Gershom Scholem, The Messianic Idea in Judaism (New York: Schocken, 1971), 297.

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processes that encompass both textual formation and textual interpretation, as well as a variety of text-involving practices, individual and communal.”57 She uses a metaphor to describe the way in which new texts might develop: “From these traditionary processes, texts of more or less fixity sometimes precipitate out, just as, in chemistry, separable solids sometimes form within a medium that remains liquid.” To my mind this is a very helpful way of thinking about the development of textual entities in relation to the ongoing tradition, but also and especially traditions of religious practice. I have emphasized the text-involving practice of confessional prayers as that which influenced and gave shape both to part of Daniel and Baruch. The textual “precipitate” of Baruch somehow clung through chemical fusion (or politically-invested scribal practice) to some form or recension of Jeremiah. Moreover, I think it is intra-communal tensions within the larger tradition over whether and how prophecy is to continue that resulted in this tug-of-war by means of confessional prayer and its placement. We have considered the way in which both texts engage the Jeremianic tra­ dition, nonetheless, in quite different ways that reflect and create their own intramural tension. The appearance of the confession in the book of Daniel articulates one side of this intra-Judean debate. Here using the “goods” of the tradition, the book contests the immediate efficacy of the practice of corporate confession for ending the exile. The posture of prayer and humble gestures are in fact potent; Daniel’s quest for understanding through Jeremiah’s writings and prayer pos­ ture prompts an angelic revelation. Here, Jeremiah appears as the locus of ancestral tradition enshrined as a textual product, of “sefarim.” Yet we learn that sola scriptura is insufficient without the aid of additional angelic inter­ pretation spurred by prayer and acts of self-abasement. The role of Jeremiah in Dan 9 is thus markedly different from the way it is used in Baruch. The prayer itself does not include oracles as does Baruch’s prayer. Rather it assumes that revelation is an ongoing phenomenon. Baruch by contrast uses Jeremiah surreptitiously. Baruch’s pious homily in the fundamentals of confession was self-authorized because through its composition, he effectively effaced his great predecessor Jeremiah, referring only to the legacy of “the prophets.” He is the “first” from a narrative perspec­ tive in “writing” five years after the exile to actualize the petition described in Solomon’s own prayer (1 Kgs 8: 46–50), in which the people are promised 57  Hindy Najman, “Configuring the Text in Biblical Studies,” A Teacher for All Generations: Essays in Honor of James C. VanderKam Volume One (ed. Eric Mason, et al.; Leiden: Brill, 2012), 3–22.

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forgiveness for sincere confession. Baruch affirms the role of ongoing tradi­ tional confession not only for the Diaspora population but also for those in Jerusalem. The legacy of institutional “live” prophecy is thus overwritten through the ritualization of text. Baruch can thus be understood as produc­ ing an etiology of the practice of corporate confession in the Diaspora and Jerusalem that is linked with festival observance at the Temple. Even more striking is the production of an extended scripture that left its legacy never fully undermining Jeremiah’s own written legacy of oracles in Jeremiah-Baruch. In that sense, the text of Baruch can be understood both to receive and compose “Jeremiah” with the sense of a new ending that overcomes exile itself.

chapter 20

Scribal Culture of the Hebrew Bible and the Burden of the Canon: Human Agency and Textual Production and Consumption in Ancient Judaism. A Response to Judith H. Newman Mladen Popović First of all, I wish to thank Professors Hindy Najman and Konrad Schmid for organizing this wonderful meeting in order to breach the disciplinary boundaries between our fields of Hebrew Bible, Early Jewish, and Dead Sea Scrolls Studies so as to avoid further parochialism, and for inviting me to respond to Professor Judith Newman’s paper “Confessing in Exile: The Reception and Composition of Jeremiah in (Daniel and) Baruch.”1 It was a great pleasure to read Judith Newman’s rich and stimulating paper. In my response I will select only three trains of thought that she raises that are crucial to rethink some of the key issues of this conference, and I will add one or two of my own thoughts, which may hopefully add to our exchange of ideas in a fruitful way. Judith Newman starts her paper by asking: How does the book of Jeremiah end? To which she answers: for some in the Greco-Roman period it ended with Baruch’s writing. Referring to the work of Emanuel Tov and Pierre-Maurice Bogaert, Newman argues that there is also evidence external to Baruch that connects it to the developing text of Jeremiah, namely: 1. 2.

a Hebrew Vorlage of the Old Greek translation of Jeremiah that includes Bar 1:1–3:8 in Hebrew. the role of Baruch in the Septuagint ordering of Jeremiah: Jer 51 LXX (Jeremiah’s prophecy to Baruch) serves as a transitional chapter to connect the Jeremiah tradition to Jeremiah’s natural successor, Baruch

Considering the discussion at the conference about MT and LXX Jeremiah, the matter is not so much that one is older or more original. This approach 1  See pp. 231–252 in this volume.

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operates conceptually under, what I would like to call, the “burden of the canon” or the search for an Urtext, which dichotimizes our perspectives and impedes our understanding of all the evidence at hand. Instead of opting for the approach to determine an older or more original version, the simple but important observation is that there are differing versions available at more or less the same time, in more or less the same milieu.2 To this evidence from the scrolls for different “biblical” Jeremiah manuscripts, Newman adds the evidence concerning Baruch, concluding that Baruch “himself” thus in effect writes new scripture. I would like to extend this important thought of Newman by reflecting briefly on notions of textual pluriformity and fluidity that are prevalent in our fields, though they are often still overshadowed by the “burden of the canon” or the search for an Urtext. For want of a better word, I call terms like “rewritten Bible,” “parabiblical,” and other cognates “derived categories” that invoke a prioritized original exemplar. The question is how to conceptualize the relations between these textual categories and at the same time take notions of textual pluriformity and fluidity seriously. For this, I have found the well-known work of Don McKenzie stimulating. McKenzie, like others such as Robert Darnton, has done important work on modelling the production, dissemination, and consumption of texts, which, of course, cannot without further ado be transferred to the ancient world. In his Bibliography and the Sociology of Texts, McKenzie argues that the material form of texts crucially determines their meanings and that when works are reproduced and reread, they take on different forms and meanings.3 This is something we can all agree on and is nothing new to our fields. But what may prove important is the more radical repercussions this has on the status of “the text” and the way we approach it. Instead of treating so-called rewritten texts and the like as “derived texts,” with McKenzie we may perceive of the production, dissemination, transmission, and consumption of texts as leading not only to new versions, but we may realize that these, fundamentally, form new 2  The “more or less same milieu” is, of course, the difficult element in our reasoning. This depends to a large extent on the view one has of the people behind the Dead Sea Scrolls, which would lead us too far afield. See Mladen Popović, “The Ancient ‘Library’ of Qumran between Urban and Rural Culture,” in The Scrolls from Qumran and the Concept of a Library (ed. Sidney White Crawford and Celicia Wassén; Leiden: Brill, 2015), 155–67; idem, “Qumran as Scroll Storehouse in Times of Crisis? A Comparative Perspective on Judaean Desert Manuscript Collections,” JSJ 43 (2012): 551–94. 3  Don F. McKenzie, Bibliography and the Sociology of Texts (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999; first published by the British Library, 1986).

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books. This realization raises questions about authorial, literary, and social context, which should be raised independently from the perceived exemplar. Or, as Newman concisely puts it, Baruch “himself” in effect writes new scripture, embodying a living tradition.4 This conceptual observation also has methodological consequences. When we discuss the scribal culture behind the production of texts or manuscripts in ancient Israel and Hellenistic-Roman Judaism, reference has already been made during our conference to the ancient Near East as well as to the Dead Sea Scrolls. On the one hand, there may be the problem of anachronism (Dead Sea Scrolls), on the other hand of cultural reductionism (ancient Near East). But it is important to understand the material we are working with, and I really mean material. Was there a difference for example between working with clay tablets and leather scrolls when it comes to the production and transmission of texts? Instead of Fortschreibung Karel van der Toorn, inspired by cuneiform expansion of text blocks, suggested that every forty years or so there was the opportunity to expand a scroll because it would have been worn out and had to be replaced, using this as a model for the scribal culture of the Hebrew Bible. But here the evidence from the manuscripts from the Judean Desert provides a crucial corrective: 1.

2.

The evidence from Qumran shows very nicely how additions and changes, Fortschreibung if you will, were possible in a relatively short time span; the evidence, for example, from the Rule of the Community manuscripts is illustrative in this regard. When we look at all the manuscripts from the Judean Desert, the idea that every forty years or so manuscripts must be replaced simply is wrong. The manuscripts from the Judean Desert conform to the papyrological evidence we have from elsewhere, most notably Egypt, where the useful life of manuscripts was easily a hundred years and more. This is corroborated by manuscripts from, for example, Qumran, Naḥal Ḥever, and Murabbaʿat.5

With regard to scribal culture and textual production and transmission, the danger of anachronism in drawing on the Dead Sea Scrolls is smaller than the danger of cultural reductionism that accompanies the cuneiform evidence. We may assume that the material culture of writing on scrolls did not change much between the time of Jeremiah and the scrolls. So methodologically, 4  Newman, “Confessing in Exile,” p. 250. 5  See also Popović, “Qumran as Scroll Storehouse,” esp. 562–64.

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the scrolls are our best evidence for understanding the scribal culture of the Hebrew Bible. The second point that Judith Newman’s paper stimulates us to think about continues the first one because she raises the importance of human agency. Commenting on Bar 1:14 Newman notes: “When performed as directed in and by the narrative, the prayer and indeed the entire book gain authority as scripture both as scripture and liturgical ritual alongside and through the agency of its pseudonymous scribal author.”6 She refers to what the anthropologist Catherine Bell has characterized as the “textualization of ritual” and the simultaneous “ritualization of text.”7 The important conclusion Newman draws is that Baruch’s scripture is considered both prophecy and liturgy through its inclusion of prayer, regardless of whether this work was ever performed as instructed or not. The legacy of prophecy is thus overwritten through the ritualization of text, as Baruch has a different take on prophecy and confessional prayer than Daniel, the other example Newman discusses. I was inspired to go back to Bell’s work on ritualization and textualization. Bell’s reflection on these concepts is important for widening our conceptual approach to the texts we work with. (And text we should take, with McKenzie and others, in a broader sense than books, including images as well.) Bell observes, “Most often we approach the text as a formulation, representation, or expression of its context.” But for a social understanding of religious texts, such “historical objectivity” is not enough. It is in danger of losing sight, on the one hand, of the communicative dimension of the textual medium itself, and, on the other, of the production and distribution of texts and how, as objects of determined cultural and economic value, texts function within social arrangements that both depend upon and promote this value. The question ultimately is: how do media of communication create a situation rather than simply reflect it? Bell thus advocates not to stop at how texts reflect their context but to inquire how texts shape contexts.8 Bell treats the texts as actors, seemingly attributing agency to them. But texts have no agency of themselves; they are not autonomous (although texts in various ways elicit responses with those handling them). Texts do not write

6  Newman, “Confessing in Exile,” p. 248. 7  Catherine Bell, “The Ritualization of Text and the Textualization of Ritual in the Codification of Taoist Liturgy,” HR (1988): 366–92. She also discussed the concept in her Ritual Theory, Ritual Practice (New York: Oxford University Press, 2009). 8  Bell, “The Ritualization of Text,” esp. 368–69.

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themselves; humans do that.9 Here McKenzie’s stress on human agency behind the process of textual production, dissemination, transmission, and consumption should be taken into account. To be fair, Bell in her description of Master Lu fully acknowledges human involvement. But it is important to understand the implications of textual materiality as human activity. Whether ritualized or textualized, profound human engagement is involved. If, again, we invoke the notions of textual pluriformity and fluidity, it is also a matter of how we, in a normative manner it seems, think of those concepts. McKenzie, for example, refers to a situation of textual instability or of uncontrolled fluidity that returns us to the condition of an oral society; terms like “return,” “instability” and “uncontrolled” seem to imply some normative stance, although McKenzie surely is not advocating any such thing. It is, however, important to push this thought a bit further: “instability” and “uncontrolled” are rather the rule than the exception for the texts and the time period under discussion. The “burden of the canon” may cause us to lose sight of this. We, therefore, need to ask whether the pluriformity and fluidity we see in the Dead Sea Scrolls or in LXX Jeremiah and Baruch provides us with tools to understand the scribal culture behind the Hebrew Bible and ancient Jewish literature in a better sense.10 There is one last matter I wish to address in relation to Judith Newman’s paper. She leaves open whether the prayer was ever performed as instructed or not. Next to this, the notion of aurality is important for it enables us in relation to literacy to distinguish between different audiences and levels of engagement with texts. As I have argued elsewhere, the manuscript evidence from various Judean Desert sites indicates the spread of literary texts throughout various strata of Jewish society. If, for example, wealthy families from villages, such as the families of Babatha or Salome Komaise, owned some of these literary texts, this would mean that access to and possession of literary texts was not limited to the urban center of Jerusalem or to priestly contexts such as that of Qumran or possibly even Masada. Babatha and Salome seem to have been illiterate, as was Salome’s brother. However, Babatha’s second husband was literate and apparently also had the practiced hand of an experienced writer. Perhaps those who 9   See also the discussion regarding the involvement of scribes in Friedhelm Hartenstein’s paper, “Prophets, Princes, and Kings: Prophecy and Prophetic Books according to Jeremiah 36,” in this volume. 10  See, e.g., Reinhard G. Kratz and Mladen Popović, eds., The Dead Sea Scrolls and the Hebrew Bible (DSD 20/3; Leiden: Brill, 2013).

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were literate read from them to those who could not read. This may have taken place in the social context of family or friends, or even in the larger social context of the village, as we know from anthropological evidence in a-literate or illiterate societies.11 Aurality thus was an important element in the dissemination and consumption of texts. However, the manner in which such people engaged with these texts was different from some of those behind the Dead Sea Scrolls, or from Ben Sira or Flavius Josephus for that matter. Their level of engagement was of a different nature than the studying, commenting, and copying and writing of texts. Like the author behind Baruch, as Newman pointed out, we are dealing here with learned sages, virtuosos in their tradition, who were weaving texts. In this respect too, the evidence from the Dead Sea Scrolls and early Jewish literature may bring us closer to the scribal culture behind Jeremiah than Mesopotamian parallels. However exactly the functionary or figure of “the scribe” must be understood, in the cases under discussion in our conference, there was more to it than a “mere copyist.” At the same time, we should be careful in talking about “the elite,” itself a construct. Again, our evidence provides clues for distinction between those behind the Dead Sea Scrolls and Josephus. Josephus may be seen as a representative of an urban, metropolitan elite—Jerusalem-based as well as Romebased in the case of Josephus. Those behind the Dead Sea Scrolls may have had a slightly different background. The site of Qumran in combination with the nearby caves in which the Dead Sea Scrolls were found represents what I see as a fascinating mixture of rural and regional material culture on the one hand and urban, high literary culture on the other. We can understand the site of Qumran as a central place in a larger network of distinct but related groups of the larger movement behind the Dead Sea Scrolls. A central place in a rural context of a network of related groups that through their literary activity signal urban and learned culture.12 It would lead too far afield to go into details. Judith Newman’s thoughtprovoking paper on Baruch’s creation of new scripture and the ritualization of text and the textualization of ritual have inspired me to reflect on the various aspects involved in the physicality of texts and the multifaceted and socially differentiated human agency involved in the production, dissemination, transmission, and consumption of texts. I hope these comments may help to move the discussion forward.

11  Popović, “Qumran as Scroll Storehouse.” 12  See Popović, “The Ancient ‘Library’ of Qumran between Urban and Rural Culture.”

chapter 21

The Meanings of the Jerusalem Temple in Baruch. A Response to Judith H. Newman Zhenshuai Jiang In this work Newman elaborates the rhetorical means by which the book of Baruch expands on prophetic texts in Jeremiah, including a comparison between the ways in which Daniel and Baruch relate to Jeremiah. First, the author introduces the development of Jeremiah tradition in the Greco-Roman period, when there was no institution of prophecy. While the book of Baruch is situated in the exilic period, its aim is to make the interpretation of the biblical text fit contemporary circumstances. If there was no institution of oral prophecy at the time of its composition, if Baruch is described as a learned sage and liturgical maestro, and if the purpose of Baruch is the scripturalization of oral prophecy, then understanding the rhetorical meanings by which the book of Baruch rewrote the confessional prayers in Jeremiah is necessary. Yet before discussing specific texts, Newman considers the phenomenon of confessional prayer more generally. While Daniel and Baruch are usually discussed together because they share striking similarities, Newman emphasizes the different rhetorical means by which they relate themselves to Jeremiah. She notes that Daniel’s confessional prayer texts use the traditional phraseology of prayer, and emphasize the behaviour and practice of prayer (Dan 9:4–19). After discussion confessional prayer in Daniel, Newman goes on to analyze the confessional prayers in Baruch (Bar 1:15–3:8). The book of Baruch shares many similarities with Jeremiah. One of them is the intertextuality of language. How does Baruch preserve the meanings in Jeremiah, and how did it create its own meanings on the basis of Jeremiah? Newman gives three examples. The first example is Bar 2:20–23. It demonstrates how Baruch, as a scribe, transformed the prophetic oracles into written words. The writing strategy used by Baruch is introducing as divine speech and in the divine oracle formula. In this way, Bar 2:20–23 aligns itself with Jer 27:12 and Jeremiah’s temple sermon (Jer 7:34). The second example is Bar 2:29–35. These verses are not only framed as prophetic oracles, but also emphasize writing as the important way by which Moses gave Israelites the law. On the one

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hand, this passage shows that Baruch describes himself as Mosaic heir, on the other hand, it highlights the authority of writing. The last example is Bar 3:1–8, which offers a comparison between the understanding the “fear and prayer” of Jer 32:40 and Bar 3:1–8. Newman notes that Baruch not only rewrote the prophetic oracles, but also reinterpreted them according to his own understanding of their meaning. Thus Baruch is not only the authoritative scribe, but also the interpreter of the Torah and the prophets. There are some important differences between the way Daniel and Baruch relate to Jeremiah. First, the confessional prayer in Daniel cannot be interpreted directly, it instead needs angelic interpretation. Yet in the book of Baruch, the prophetic oracles are not only interpreted directly, but they can also be extended through the creative meanings that Baruch himself adds to them. Second, Daniel emphasizes the practice of oral prayer. Daniel 9:4–19 describes in detail the self-abasement of the body with fasting, sackcloth, and ashes. The book of Baruch shows more concern about the scripturalization of the prophetic oracles. It focuses on how these oracles can be reflected in written words. Thus it does not emphasize the practice and behavior as much as Daniel. Third, in Daniel the petition focuses on Jerusalem and the sanctuary. Baruch not only focuses on the temple and Jerusalem, but also on the diaspora population, including his contemporaries. Why are there such differences? Newman discusses the several reasons mentioned above. For example, Baruch is described not only as an authoritative scribe, but also the interpreter of the Torah and the prophets, thus he gave the new meanings to prophetic oracles in Jeremiah. Also, Baruch’s instructive scroll is not only for Jerusalem, but also for the diaspora population, thus it focuses on both of them. A further difference not noted by Newman is the temple in Jerusalem. The temple was likely an inspiration for the writing of the book of Baruch. First, it is dated to around 130 bce, when the Second Temple was desecrated by Antiochus IV.1 It was also perhaps inspired by the Maccabean revolt. One result of the revolt is rededication the temple.2 Thus, the temple might have been a motivation for its writing. Second, according to the biblical narrative, the

1  Odil H. Steck, Das apokryphe Baruchbuch. Studien zu Rezeption und Konzentration “kanonischer” Überlieferung (FRLANT 160; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1993), 285–90. 2   Leonard J. Greenspoon, “Between Alexandria and Antioch: Jews and Judaism in the Hellenistic Period,” in The Oxford History of the Biblical World (ed. Michael D. Coogan; New York: Oxford University Press, 1998), 440–41.

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scribe and the temple are essentially interrelated.3 In many cases, the scribe and the priest are introduced together in biblical narratives, for example, 2 Sam 8:17, 20:25, and 1 Chr 24:6. The author always introduces the scribe and priest together in the context of the royal court. In the postexilic period, the priest and scribe can also be the same person, as in the case of Ezra (Neh 8:2, 4). In some cases, the narrative setting is just in the temple, as suggested by 2 Kgs 12:10, 19:2, 22:8, 10, and Isa 37:2. According to these narratives, the scribe and the priest are active together in the temple. Jeremiah shows such an important connection between Baruch and the temple. As an active agent, Baruch shows up in Jer 3. The important narrative scenario for him is the temple. In Jer 36:5, when Jeremiah could not go to the temple, he asks Baruch to come to the temple. At this point, it is the temple that ties them together. Afterwards, Baruch read from the book the words of Yahweh in Yahweh’s house (‫)בית יהוה‬. The house of Yahweh is emphasized again and again in Jer 36:8, 10, and 12. It is only in Jer 36:20 that the narrative scenario is moved from the house of Yahweh to the royal court. After several centuries, at the moment when the Second Temple is desecrated by Antiochus IV, the temple of Jerusalem obviously could no longer be an important narrative setting or focus. For Daniel, although his prayer pays close attention to the restoration of sanctuary and Jerusalem in Dan 9:7, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, it does not mention the word “temple of Jerusalem.” Daniel only uses the word “sanctuary” (‫( )מקדש‬Dan 9:17) in his prayer. He pays more attention to the city of Jerusalem than the temple. In the book of Baruch, the temple is de-emphasized rhetorically: the word “the house of the Lord” (οικου Κυριου) has different and inconsistent meanings. In Bar 1:8, “the house of the Lord” is mentioned for the first time in the book of Baruch, but simply with a description “the vessels from it.” It does not point to the temple itself in Jerusalem. At the same time when he received the vessels of the house of the Lord, that were carried out of the temple, to return them into the land of Judah, the tenth day of the month Sivan, namely, silver vessels, which Zedekiah the son of Josiah king of Judah had made. (Bar 1:8) In some other places, although the word “the house of the lord” is also used, its meaning is not consistent. In Bar 1:14, “and you shall read this book which we 3  For the discussion of the relation of literary production, scribes in ancient Israel to the temple in Jerusalem, see Konrad Schmid, Literaturgeschichte des Alten Testaments: Eine Einführung (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2008), 43–47.

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have sent to you, to make confession in the house of the lord, upon the feasts and solemn days,” “the house of the lord” is apparently the temple in Jerusalem. In Bar 2:16, however, “your house” seems not to represent the temple, since this verse describes God as beyond the whole world. Also the phrase “look down” implies that God is in a high place such as in heaven, rather than in the temple of Jerusalem. Lord, look down from your house, and consider us: bow down your ear, Lord, to hear us. (Bar 2:16) In Bar 2:26, “the house of the lord” again indicates the temple in Jerusalem since it is described as it is laid waste. And the house which is called by your name you have laid waste, as it is to be seen this day, for the wickedness of the house of Israel and the house of Judah. (Bar 2:26) Again, Bar 3:24–25 suggests that “the house of the lord” is not the temple, rather it is the whole world. It is not only described as having no end, it is also juxtaposed with the phrase “his possession.” O Israel, how great is the house of God (οἶκος τοῦ θεοῦ), and how large is the place of his possession. Great, and has no end; high, and unmeasurable. (Bar 3:24–25) Thus the author of the book of Baruch seems to give the phrase “the house of the Lord” different connotations. “The house of the Lord” is not only the temple in Jerusalem, it is also the world, or the Lord’s residence in the heaven. Meanings of “The House of the Lord” (οἴκου Κυρίου) in Baruch 1–3 “Temple in Jerusalem” Bar 1:8, 14 Bar 2:26

“Heaven” “World” Bar 2:16 Bar 3:24–25

On the whole, the temple is an important setting for Baruch in Jeremiah. Daniel’s prayer does not mention the words “temple in Jerusalem.” For the book of Baruch, on the one hand, the temple is not the narrative focus. On the other hand, it de-emphasizes the importance of the temple in Jerusalem rhetorically through giving different meanings to the word “the house of the Lord.”

chapter 22

Text Reception and Conceptions of Authority in Second Temple Contexts. A Response to Judith H. Newman Phillip M. Lasater A question I would like to pose is whether careful attention to textual reception and intertextual links can help us to understand how scribal groups thought about the texts that they wrote and, specifically, how they conceptualized the authority of texts. Judith Newman’s paper on the reception of the Jeremiah tradition in Daniel and Baruch explores divergent views of revelation and restoration in these compositions from the Hellenistic period.1 She identifies the way that they relate confessional prayer to prophecy as “a crux” for understanding their contrasting perspectives.2 The idea seems to be that we can detect interplay between their attitudes toward revelation, confession, and texts. Newman argues that Daniel sees revelation as ongoing, confessional prayer as having contestable efficacy, and textual meaning as discernible through angelic illumination.3 Baruch, on the other hand, sees prophecy as having ceased, confessional prayer as efficacious, and textual interpretation as bolstering leaders’ authority.4 In Baruch’s case, “[t]he scribal sage claims the mantle of leadership . . . through his role as 1  Judith H. Newman, “Confessing in Exile: The Reception and Composition of Jeremiah in (Daniel) and Baruch” in this volume, 231–52, here 231, 233. 2  Ibid., 232. 3  Ibid., 237, 251. Regarding the idea in Daniel that one’s understanding of texts requires angelic revelation, Newman points out that “[a]cts of prayer and abasement can spur such a response, but the confession itself will not effect the end of exile, nor alter the divine eschatological plan” (here 237). Technically, then, Daniel does portray confession as efficacious even if he locates this efficacy elsewhere. 4  For discussions of the “end of prophecy” and attitudes toward revelation in the Second Temple period, see Joseph Blenkinsopp, “ ‘ We Pay No Heed to Heavenly Voices’’: The ‘End of Prophecy’ and the Formation of the Canon,” in Treasures Old & New: Essays in the Theology of the Pentateuch (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2004), here 199; and Nathan MacDonald, “The Spirit of Yhwh: An Overlooked Conceptualization of Divine Presence in the Persian Period,” in Divine Presence and Absence in Exilic and Post-Exilic Judaism (ed. Nathan MacDonald and Izaak J. de Hulster; FAT II/61; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2013), here 108–11.

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authoritative interpreter of the Torah and prophets.”5 Indeed, it was striking how frequently the words “authority” and “authoritative” occur in this paper,6 applying in most cases to issues of text reception.7 In particular, the focus on the Jeremiah tradition with its fluid status in the Hellenistic period makes for an interesting case study in the way that contemporaneous Jewish communities thought about the relationship between texts and authority (≠ power, force).8 Adding to the interest is the fact that, in the case of Jeremiah, textual authority preceded textual standardization, which the Qumran evidence helps to show by virtue of the multiple manuscript streams discovered at this one site (cf. 4QJera, c and longer MT readings; cf. 4QJerb, d and shorter LXX readings).9 There seems to have been a matter-of-fact awareness of the various streams of tradition,10 especially if the manuscript evidence at Qumran is indicative of a broader situation in scribal culture.

5   Newman, “Confessing in Exile,” here 232. 6   I have not included the use of words like “authorize,” which, etymologically, may be relevant. 7   Newman, “Confessing in Exile” (“authoritative interpreter,” 232); (“the text . . . claimed authority for itself as scripture,” 232); (“the written authority of the scroll and Baruch as its author,” 238); (“authoritative status,” 244); (“authoritative language,” 245); (“the authoritative figure of a sage and heir” to Jeremiah and Moses, 247); (Baruch’s prayer and book “gain authority . . . as scripture,” 248). 8   To focus for a moment on etymology, Eng. “authority” comes from Lat. auctoritas (< auctor < augere, “to augment, accumulate, advance”). Conceptual historians have pointed out that, in ancient Rome, we see a political development in which the distinction between auctoritas and potestas (legally sanctioned force) faded, which helps to explain the widespread contemporary tendency to interpret “authority” in terms of force or even violence, neither of which was original to the meaning of auctoritas. See n. 12 below. 9   See further James C. VanderKam, The Dead Sea Scrolls and the Bible (Eerdmans: Grand Rapids, 2012), 12–15. See also the discussion of manuscript evidence concerning Jeremiah in James C. VanderKam and Peter Flint, The Meaning of the Dead Sea Scrolls: Their Significance for Understanding the Bible, Judaism, Jesus, and Christianity (San Francisco: HarperCollins, 2002), 134–35. 10  Referring to a case study of textual fluidity in Pesher Habakkuk, VanderKam notes evidence that scribes were aware of variant readings and states, “[The scribe’s] practice was to use both readings, as though it was a bonus to have more text on which to comment” (Dead Sea Scrolls and the Bible, 23). On the idea of a “stream of tradition” referenced above, see Karel van der Toorn, Scribal Culture and the Making of the Hebrew Bible (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2007), 4, 25–26. On the “authority” of texts as well as scribes (and the latter’s indebtedness to the prophetic tradition) in ancient Judaism, see pp. 28, 34, 47–48, 106–8.

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Baruch’s confessional prayer—composed with reference to the “prophetic” texts of Deut 27:3, 8 and Jer 32:40—not only interacts with but also takes on authority as scripture.11 This point raises the question of how someone like Baruch perceived textual authority. What did it mean for a scribe to say that a text was, in some sense, authoritative? In contrast to a number of contemporary analytic philosophers who define authority as a chiefly restrictive concept (i.e. obligations, limitations in social relations),12 such a conception of authority seems inadequate for describing Baruch and other ancient scribes’ engagement with texts, the authority of which appears not simply restrictive but somehow generative. Newman suggests that this authority was important for Baruch’s own status as a “Torah-and-Prophets interpreter par excellence.”13 For the position of text interpreter to have had this status-boosting significance, scribes must have acknowledged the texts themselves as authoritative in some way. Additionally, Newman notes that Baruch attains this status of text interpreter at the expense of the prophetic and priestly offices alike—offices that historically undergirded the very texts that Baruch used to create new texts, whose written confessional prayer came to enjoy “a normative and regular ritual status”14 (on ritual-like prayer in another setting of textual interpretation and production, cf. 1QS 9:2–5). That is, through the ritual use of Baruch’s interpretive confessional prayer, his texts were not just accepted but absorbed into the fluid yet authoritative Jeremiah tradition. The scriptures of Jeremiah resulted in further scripture,15 so that Jeremiah’s generative capacity itself 11  Newman, “Confessing in Exile,” speaks of “[t]he ongoing practice of confession and the integration of scripturalized confessions in evolving textual traditions” as “decisive factors” in the shape and authority of Jeremiah-Baruch (here 232). 12  For example, see Hannah Arendt, “What is Authority?” in Between Past and Future (New York: Penguin, 2006 [orig. 1961]), 91–141, here 93; Theodor Eschenburg, Über Autorität (Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp, 1965), 10–11; and also Joseph M. Bocheński, Was ist Autorität? Einführung in die Logik der Autorität (Freiburg: Herder, 1974), 21–23. Speaking specifically of Lat. auctoritas, Bocheński argues that authority involves the three elements of 1) a relation; 2) hierarchy; and 3) expectations for a security-ensuring order. He is of course interested in authority as it operates in relations between persons. But an interesting question is whether his personal relation emphasis is adequate for speaking of texts, perhaps especially texts in and from antiquity. 13  Newman, “Confessing in Exile,” 247. 14  Ibid., 12. 15  This fact of course calls to mind the phenomenon of inner-biblical exegesis, which to a significant degree was a driving force in the growth of the Hebrew Bible and which problematizes a sharp division between “authors” and “redactors.” See Konrad Schmid, “Schriftgelehrte Arbeit an der Schrift: Historische Überlegungen zum Vorgang innerbiblischer Exegese,” in Schriftgelehrte Traditionsliteratur: Fallstudien zur innerbiblischen

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seems to have been inseparable from its authority as a living framework for interpretation. Authority plays not a restrictive but a generative role here, an apparent and complex feature of Second Temple period scribal culture that Newman’s paper enables us to see. I now turn briefly to what may be some implications for historical-critical biblical research. The difference between restrictive and generative conceptions of authority invites reflection not only on how we think about Jewish scribes in antiquity, but also on how we portray their understanding of the texts they handled.16 For example, the argument that ancient “editing” of texts should be seen not as “theological redaction” but as “corruption” seems deeply, maybe even wholly, dependent upon assuming: 1) that if ancient scribes thought of texts as authoritative, their conception of authority would have been a categorically restrictive one (and, one should add, bound up with the early or original phases of the text);17 and 2) that there is no need for a qualitative distinction Schriftauslegung im Alten Testament (FAT 77; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011), here 51–53. According to David L. Petersen, The Prophetic Literature: An Introduction (Louisville: WJK, 2002), this generative capacity could apply to the entire prophetic tradition in ancient Israel and Judah (here 4–5). 16  Intriguingly, Newman points to the work of political philosopher Alasdair MacIntyre, whose work on the concept of “living tradition” she finds relevant to “the relationship between the prayer in Dan 9, Baruch, Jeremiah, and other texts” (here, 237). I would add that if MacIntyre’s understanding of “tradition” is taken seriously and applied to treatments of ancient scribal culture and the texts it produced, then my suspicion toward presuming a restrictive conception of authority is further bolstered. See Alasdair MacIntyre, After Virtue: A Study in Moral Theory (3rd ed.; Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 2007), 221–25. 17  Explaining that there were Alexandrian scribes who would note an addition in texts, John van Seters, “Editing the Bible: The Romantic Myths about Authors and Editors,” Hebrew Bible and Ancient Israel 3 (2014), 343–354, states that “The Alexandrian scholars marked [such cases] as an addition (i.e. corruption), but they did not remove it. In the Qumran texts we have a similar case in which embedded in a text of Numbers (4QNumb) are a number of interpolations that have been taken from Deuteronomy. This is characterized by F. M. Cross as an ‘edition’ or ‘recension.’ In fact, it is a textual corruption, and should be recognized as such” (here, 351). Importantly, van Seters’ argument depends upon a matter-of-fact equation of “addition” with “corruption” (“. . . an addition [i.e., corruption]”), clearly presupposing a restrictive, origin-bound conception of authority. One question to ask in response to van Seters is: If these scribes considered such additions to be “corruptions,” why did they not follow through and “purify” the text by deleting the alleged corruptions? It seems that van Seters’ interpretation of the scribal markings as signifying an ancient norm according to which additions are corruptions is highly questionable.

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between authority in socio-political relations, on the one hand, and in textual production and interpretation, on the other. Each of these points is questionable and, I would add, ostensibly flawed, so that future attention to these methodological issues is a requirement for historical-critical studies. One possibility for pursuing such considerations is to pay careful attention to textual reception and the intertextual activity that we can discern in ancient Jewish literature, explicating what such activity suggests about the scribes’ understanding of both their texts and the nature of the texts’ authority.

chapter 23

The Use and Function of Jeremianic Tradition in 1 Enoch: The Epistle of Enoch in Focus Loren T. Stuckenbruck 1 Introduction Within the early Enochic tradition—an expression that may be taken as referring to those parts of 1 Enoch chapters 1–108 attested among the Dead Sea materials1—there are numerous possible allusions to and echoes of material attributed to the book of Jeremiah the prophet in the Hebrew Bible. This occurs not only in the Book of Watchers and Astronomical Book, but also in the Animal Apocalypse.2 However, it is in the so-called Epistle of Enoch attached to it in the early tradition that we have clearest indications that textual tradition associated with Jeremiah is in play, and it is to this part of 1 Enoch (i.e., to 92:1–5 and 93:11–105:2) that the present paper is devoted. The following analysis shall proceed in two steps. First, the discussion explores the varying degree to which Jeremiah may be considered to underlie the Enochic text. The analysis of individual passages shall proceed from the 1  Excluded would be the Book of Parables (chs. 37–71) and the Eschatological Admonition (ch. 108). The definition could also lead one to exclude the first vision and prayer in the Book of Dreams (chs. 83–84) since they are not as such preserved among the Dead Sea materials. The close association of these chapters with the following Animal Vision of chapters 85–90, the resonance of the prayer text in 84:2–6 with material found in the Book of Giants (at 4Q203 9 and 10), material similar to the content of 91:5–10 and 106:13–18, and the absence of any later ideas as found in the Parables (with 65:6 influenced by these traditions) or Admonition mentioned above suggest a date commensurate with or not long after that the Animal Vision. Cf. similarly, though with a different explanation for 65:6, George W.E. Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch 1: A Commentary on the Book of 1 Enoch Chapters 1–36; 81–108 (ed. Klaus Baltzer; Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2001), pp. 346–47. 2  Book of Watchers: e.g., though the allusions are not strong or necessarily exclusive, the best candidates for this are in 1 En. 1:5, 8 (Jer 25:31); 2:1–5:3 (Jer 5:20–29); 5:8–9 (Jer 31:33–34 with Ezek 36:25–27); 13:9–10 (Jer 2:2; 34:4–8); and 30:2 (Jer 6:22); Astronomical Book: cf. 1 En. 72:1 (Jer 31:35–36, but see Ps 89:37–38, 148:5–6); 80:2 (Jer 3:3; 5:24–25); and 82:4 (Jer 5:23; 10:2–3, 5); Animal Apocalypse: 1 En. 85:6–7 (Jer 31:15); 89:61–64 (disobedient shepherds: Jer 23:2, 25:11– 12, 29:10—but cf. Ezek 34, Zech 11, and Dan 9:2).

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least to the more certain among the allusions (Part II, sections A through C). Second, and following from this (Part III), in the conclusion, I shall attempt to comment on the significance of the use of Jeremiah tradition within the argument of the Epistle as a whole. Although the eschatological component of the Epistle of Enoch is much more pronounced than that of Jeremiah, there is in broad terms a basis for drawing both traditions into conversation. Both the Epistle and Jeremiah are concerned with false teachers (1 En. 98:9–99:2; Jer 5:13, 31; 6:13; 8:10; 13:13; 14:13– 14, 18; 23:11–16, 23–40; 27:8–22; 29:8, 21; 32:32; 37:19). In addition, broadly speaking, both are concerned with social justice: the Epistle complains that the wicked consist of those who have an instructional agenda of their own, based on sacred tradition, but who at the same time oppress the righteous, while Jeremiah complains against and denounces those whose religiosity allows them to amass wealth unjustly at the expense of others (priests, prophets, and officials of Jerusalem). 2

Texts

The consideration of texts below is organized around degrees of influence that may be attributed to Jeremiah in the Enochic tradition: (A) some motifs held in common are more broadly shared with other prophetic traditions; (B) some motifs in the Epistle have their closest parallel among sources known to us in Jeremiah, though the actual influence of Jeremiah remains uncertain; and (C) instances in which Jeremiah tradition seems to have directly shaped the text. In each of these categories, the Enochic text is cited before the possible parallel traditions are taken up. In the citations from the Epistle of Enoch, the most relevant parts of the text for the analysis are given in italics. It must be emphasized that references to the Ethiopic text tradition are provisional, given current text-critical work based on a much larger number of significant manuscripts is underway.3

3  The project, funded by the Deutsche Forschungsgemeinschaft for the period 2015–2018, is being carried out at the Ludwig-Maximilians-Universität München by myself and Ted Erho, with the assistance of Ralph Lee and James Hamrick. For a preliminary description of many of the already known materials and an introduction to some of the new, see Ted M. Erho and Loren T. Stuckenbruck, “A Manuscript History of Ethiopic Enoch,” JSP 23 (2013): 87–133.

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Jeremiah Among Other Traditions

(i) 1 Enoch 98:9: “Woe to you, O fools, for you will be destroyed by your folly; and you do not listen to your wise, (so that) goodness will not find you.” The criticism of those who do not pay attention to those whom God has designated is likewise found in Jeremiah. Several times, the prophet claims to draw on the words of God when complaining that the people did not listen to those God has sent them. For example, according to Jer 7:25–26a (NRSV), the text specifies, “From the day that your ancestors came out of the land of Egypt until this day, I have persistently sent all my servants the prophets to them, day after day; / yet they did not listen to me, or pay attention, but they stiffened their necks . . .” (also 29:19, 35:15, and 44:4; cf. 25:4–5). In the Hebrew Bible, culpability for not listening to leaders considered by authors as legitimate is widespread; see Exod 16:20 (Moses); Judg 2:17; 2 Kgs 17:13–14; and 21:8–9 (cf. also 1 Bar 1:21); in addition, the motif of not listening to messages from God can be found in prophetic pronouncements of Isaiah (65:12; 66:4) and in Ezekiel (20:8, a reference back to the state of the Israelites in Egypt) as well as Jeremiah. It is worth noting, however, that whereas none of the texts mentioned above contain the additional imagine of “stiffening the neck”, it is in Jeremiah where such an association with being unable to hear is made (7:26; 17:23; and 19:15: ‫את ערפם‬ ‫ ויקשו‬/ εσκληρυναν τον τραχηλον αυτων). It is perhaps significant in this connection that in the Epistle at 98:11, the text addresses the fools as “hard-hearted” in the Ethiopic (gezufāna leb), while the Greek Chester-Beatty Papyrus (hereafter the basis for Gk. citations below)4 refers to them as “stiff-necked in heart” (οι σκληροτραχη[λοι τη κ]αρδια). One may ask whether at least the Greek version of the Epistle, which on the whole is text-critically problematic,5 offers a parallel that, at a secondary level, links the passage specifically to Jeremiah more than to the other traditions. (ii) 1 Enoch 98:13: “Woe to you who rejoice over the distress of the righteous because graves will not be dug for you (Gk.: your grave shall not be dug).”

4  For the photographs and presentation of the Greek text, I have consulted, respectively, Frederic G. Kenyon, The Chester Beatty Biblical Papyri: Descriptions and Texts of Twelve Manuscripts on Papyrus of the Greek Bible, fasc. Viii. Enoch and Melito (London: Walker, 1941) and Campbell Bonner, The Last Chapters of Enoch in Greek (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1968). 5  On which see Loren T. Stuckenbruck, 1 Enoch 91–108 (CEJL; Berlin: de Gruyter, 2007), 185–86.

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In several passages Jeremiah’s denunciation of oppressors in Judah anticipates that they will either not be buried or remain in their graves. The lack of honorable burial is first mentioned in Jer 8:1–2: the bones of the kings of Judah, of the officials, of the priests, of the prophets, and of the inhabitants of Jerusalem “will be brought out of the tombs onto the ground. They will be neither gathered nor buried. They will be as dung on the face of the ground.” (MT) This text, which influences Jer at 25:33 (MT), presupposes a prior burial before the unburied state takes place. Similar to the state of Jehoiakim’s body after death (22:19), it is not so much a lack of burial but a dishonorable burial or one that does not remain in effect which the prophetic text anticipates.6 The Greek version of Jeremiah simplifies the text of 8:1–2 to state that the wicked “will neither be mourned nor be buried” (cf. also 16:4, 6). Not to be buried is associated with disgrace and humiliation in the Hebrew Bible, whether as a dreaded and unjust end for the righteous (Ps 79:3) or as a fitting punishment for the wicked (2 Kgs 9:10, 35–37; in addition to the Jeremiah texts cited, see 14:16 and 29:5). In addition, a number of Second Temple writings underscore the importance attached to burying the dead, especially as an obligation of the pious on behalf of the pious. It is, for example, an essential component of piety in the book of Tobit (e.g. 1:17–18; 2:3–4, 7; 4:3–4; 6:14; 12:12– 13; 14:10). Indeed, not to bury the dead could more generally be understood as not fulfilling one’s religious duty (so esp. T. Job 39:8; Philo Spec. 3.152—which draws on Deut 21:23); Josephus B.J. 2.465; 4.317, 331; 5.531, 545; cf. Matt 8:21 par. Luke 9:59 and Rev 11:9). Closer to the Epistle of Enoch and the Greek version of Jeremiah, many texts regard the lack of burial as a potent symbol of shame; as punishment beyond death for evildoers. The idea occurs in Jub. 23:23 (the text of which is influenced by Jer 8:2); the War Scroll at 1QM xi 1 and 4QMb = 4Q492 1.10; 4QTanhumim = 4Q176 1–2 i 4 (cf. Ps 79:3); 1 Macc 7:17; and 2 Macc 5:8–10. The lack of graves for the wicked not only means that they will go unburied, but it fits well with the manner of death that is described in the final woe oracle of this section (1 En. 99:2—they will be trampled to the ground). There is insufficient evidence to link the Epistle to Jeremiah specifically, even to the Greek version, which comes closer to the notion of the wicked being without burial. While the influence of Jeremiah cannot be dismissed, the wide attestation of the motif in other writings from the 2nd century and later makes it difficult to argue for a genetic link between the Epistle and Jeremiah at this point. 6  The Greek text to Jer 22:19, however, does not refer to what happens once Jehoiakim was buried, but rather emphasizes the lack of burial altogether by having the king’s body dumped outside the gates of Jerusalem.

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Stuckenbruck

Closer Correspondence to Jeremiah but Connection not Straightforward

(i) 1 Enoch 98:9: “Woe to you, O fools, for you will be destroyed by your folly; and you do not listen to your wise, (so that) goodness will not find you (Gk. good things will [not c]ome upon you, but evil things [will surround] you).” This passage, already referred to above (2.1.i.), concludes with a statement to the effect that well-being (lit. “goodness”, Gk. αγαθα “good things”) will not be the ultimate end for the wicked, who for now seem to be enjoying such a socioeconomically privileged state. The lack of goodness at the end follows from the destruction that the fools are to undergo. Within a prophetic oracle at Jer 5:20–29, v. 25 states emphatically that with respect to the “foolish” people in Judah (cf. v. 21) “your sins have kept goodness from you” (v. 25b). Surprisingly, there is no precise equivalent for goodness “not finding” in either the Hebrew Bible or Second Temple literature; elsewhere the text traditions of Jeremiah (both MT and LXX) approximate the meaning without offering the same verbal formulation, so that it is too much to argue for the influence on the part of Jeremiah tradition on the Enochic text. An important difference between the Epistle and Jeremiah is, of course, that the latter refers to an impoverished state that has already resulted and offers an explanation for this on the basis of the people’s wrongdoings. The Epistle, on the other hand, does not describe so much as it pronounces the lack of well-being as a threat, if not an inevitability for the “fools.” (ii) 1 Enoch 100:5b: “And even though the righteous ones will sleep a long sleep, there will be nothing for them to fear.” (Gk. “And from that (time) the godly will sleep a pleasant sleep, and there will no longer be anyone to make them afraid.”) For the metaphor of sleep referring to the period between death and the final judgment, there are many texts, both in the Hebrew Bible (cf. Jer 51:39, 57; Job 3:13; 14:12; and Dan 12:2) and from the Second Temple period.7 The emphasis in the Epistle is on the contrast between their state in the afterlife (and before the final judgment) and the ordeals they have to face in the meantime. In the Ethiopic, the “long” sleep is the result of the protection 7  Cf. N. T. Wright, The Resurrection of the Son of God (Philadelphia: Fortress, 2003), 85–206.

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of angels that the righteous may expect after death (100:5a),8 while the Greek text merely regards the “pleasant” sleep possible because evil and sin have ceased for them. If the Ethiopic is followed, then the closest parallel is found in Prov 6:9 (NRSV): “How long will you lie there, O lazybones? When will you rise from your sleep?” There is, however, little continuity of sense between the text in Proverbs and that of the Epistle. If the Greek version is followed, then the closest parallel for “pleasant sleep” can be found in Jer 31[LXX 38]:26: a very brief narrative is placed between two oracles given to Jeremiah, who states that his sleep was “pleasant” to him. The only other similar wording occurs in Qoh 5:12: “sweet is the sleep of the laborer, but not for the rich.” Despite even these similarities, a literary connection between the Epistle and Jeremiah cannot be established here. 2.3

Direct Use of Jeremiah ( from Likely to Certain)

(i) 1 Enoch 101:4–5a, 6: “Do you not see the kings (Gk. captains) of the ships, how their ships are tossed about by the wave and are rocked by winds and are in danger? / Therefore they fear that all their goodly possessions will go forth into the sea with them. . . . / Are not the entire sea and all its waters the work of the Most High, and has he (not) sealed all its work and bound it completely with sand?” The maritime imagery is upheld better in the Greek than in the Ethiopic version, so that the former reading of “captains” is to be preferred (see the same difference in 101:9). In addition, the Greek version does not pose a question in verse 4 but rather invites the audience to observe and draw inferences from the images presented (in line with both versions in 101:1): “see the captains of the ships, how their ships are tossed about by the wave and are rocked by winds.” Such use of imagery, combined with the fear that seas pose for those who travel by boat, can be found in two texts in the Hebrew Bible: Psalm 107 (LXX 106): 23–30 and Jer 5:22. In addition, such imagery occurs in Sir 43:24 (“those who sail on the sea tell of its danger”). It functions as a way for the writer of one of the Hodayoth to describe his own distress (1QHa xi 6, 13–17; xiv 22–24) and more generally reinforces the notion of human volatility, as occurs in Philo (Cher. 1.13; Agr. 1.89; Migr. 1.148). In Ps 107, the fear sailors have of the sea dissipates when they call out to God for help (so vv. 28–30; cf. also Wis 14:1–4; Jon 1:4–16; y. Ber. 9:13b, 22). 8  See R. H. Charles, The Book of Enoch or 1 Enoch (Oxford: Clarendon, 1912), 249 and Siegbert Uhlig, Das äthiopische Henochbuch (JSHRZ V/6; Gütersloh: Verlagshaus and Mohn, 1984), 730.

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The text from Jeremiah, at 5:22, serves a different function; wicked “fools” (cf. 5:21 and 25–26), who do not fear God, should do so because God is in control of the sea (i.e., God has circumscribed the sea with sand), despite all the turbulence and tumult associated with its waves: “Do you not fear me, says the Lord. Do you not tremble before me? I placed the sand as a boundary for the sea as a perpetual barrier it cannot pass. Though the waves toss, they cannot prevail, and though they roar, they cannot pass over it” (MT, my translation). Similar to Jeremiah, the Epistle applies the imagery as a foil for sinners. Thus, in vv. 4–5, sailors are described has having a response of fear in the face of dangers they encounter on the sea. The author wishes the audience to think that seafarers are prepared to expect the worst as stormy waves under the creator’s control toss about their boats. The sea, then, brings them to the point of fearing God. This normal human response to danger is contrasted with sinners who are fearless toward God, an attitude that is both foolish and groundless. The lack of fear attributed to the sinners (cf. also 101:9) is inappropriate on account of being contrary to nature. Using similar imagery, both Jeremiah and the Epistle advocate for a “fear” of God, but do so on different grounds; Jeremiah calls for fear of God, who is able to control seawaters when they are tempestuous, while the Epistle, more mundanely, simply links the fear of turbulent seas with the fear of God, who made them. The additional element—the circumscribing of dangerous sea by sand—is also shared by both passages. Taken together, the details, which in this combination occur nowhere else in the Hebrew Bible or Second Temple literature, make it plausible to argue that the Epistle is drawing on Jeremiah for this imagery and has put it to creative use. The comparison suggests, however, that the connection is not so straightforward and that the author of the Epistle has shaped the tradition in a particular way. (ii) 1 Enoch 94:6–7a (and, by extension, 99:11–16): “Woe to those who build iniquity and wrongdoing and found deceit, for they will be quickly overthrown and have no peace. Woe to those who build their houses with sin, for they will be overthrown from their entire foundation and they will fall by the sword.” This text forms part of the first woe oracle of the Epistle (94:6–95:2). There is a possible parallel in Mic 3:10, which, however, is not a woe oracle but a pronouncement: “Hear this, you heads of the house of Jacob and rulers of the house of Israel, . . . who build Jerusalem with blood and Zion with iniquity” (NRSV). A much closer tradition to the Epistle occurs in Jer 22:13 (NRSV): “Woe to him who builds his house by unrighteousness, and his upper rooms by injustice; who makes his neighbors work for nothing, and does not give them their

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wages.” Not only do Jeremiah and the Epistle have the woe oracle in common, the combination of building by means of wrongdoing and the strong criticism of those who acquire wealth leaves little doubt that the Epistle is drawing directly on Jer 22:13 for the imagery. A further woe oracle in the Epistle (1 En. 99:11–16) denounces those who “spread evil” to their neighbors (v. 11; cf. 95:5a), lay foundations of sin and deceit and build houses through the unjust toil of others (vv. 12–13), and will fall by the sword” (99:16). The passage not only picks up on imagery from the first woe oracle in 94:6–95:2, but also draws on elements from Jer 22:13, including the motif, not found in the earlier woe oracle, of abusing others to build one’s house. (iii) 1 Enoch 95:1: “Who would allow my eyes to become a cloud of water, so that I could weep over you and pour out my tears as a cloud of water and find rest from the sorrow of my heart?” The tradition that stands closest to the wording and imagery of this text is in Jer 9:1 (Gk. 8:23): “O (lit. “who”: MT ‫מי‬, LXX τις) lets my head be water and my eyes a fountain of tears, so that I might weep day and night for the slain ones of my poor people!” (my translation) The same text from Jeremiah stands behind 2 Baruch at 35:2: “O that my eyes were springs, and my eyelids, that they were a fountain of tears.” In his commentary on the text, Charles already noted the influence of Jeremiah on the Epistle.9 To the extent that this is the case, the writer has shifted the imagery from lamenting the destruction of the wicked to a sarcastic plea to be able to weep for those who commit wickedness and amass riches (94:6–11). The text also contains an element of genuine sorrow: as the content of 95:2 demonstrates, a reason for the writer’s sorrow is not so much their punishment or destruction as it is their misdeeds. Just as Jeremiah’s lament is concerned with the faithless people of God (cf. the passage in Jer 8:18–9:17; cf. also Lam 2:18 and 3:49), so the text expresses the Epistle’s huge disappointment at those regarded as adversaries (other Jews). The “sorrow” is not compassionate, but reflects grief that the wicked have subjected the righteous to such oppression, a motif that reverberates throughout the Epistle (96:5; 98:13; 99:13, 15; 100:7; 102:9–15; 104:3). The author adopts a voice of lament, found not only in Jeremiah (cf. also 9:2) but also often in the Psalms (13:2; 25:17, 19–20; 55:2–7; 102:1–10; 143:1–12; cf. also 4 Ezra 3:29–30). However, the petitionary force behind 9  Charles, The Book of Enoch or 1 Enoch, 236.

276

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some of the Psalms (e.g. in seeking deliverance from one’s foes) gives way here to the Epistle’s focus on the announcement of woes against the wicked. (iv) 1 Enoch 97:8a: “Woe to you who gain silver and gold which is not through righteousness.” The second series of woe oracles in the Epistle in 97:7–10 focuses even more on the culpability of wealth than the first series in 94:6–95:2. Here, the text of Jer 17:11 may have furnished the Epistle with language emphasizing the unjust acquisition of riches: “Like the partridge hatching what it did not lay, so are all who amass wealth unjustly (‫ ;עשה עשר ולא משפט‬LXX ; in mid-life it will leave them, and at their end they will prove to be fools.” (NRSV) The dependence of the text on Jeremiah is clearest from the Ethiopic, since the Greek version, which omits the relative pronoun, simply has “not through righteousness” (ουκ απο δικαιοσυνης).10 The allusion to Jer 17:11 may also have the previously cited woe oracle in Jer 22:13 in the background as well: “woe to the one who builds his house by unrighteousness”. The phrase “not through righteousness” may in the Epistle stand in deliberate contrast to the Apocalypse of Weeks at 1 En. 91:13a, according to which the righteous in the eschatological age will obtain “possessions through righteousness.” If Jeremiah ultimately lies in the background, then the positive formulation in the Apocalypse of Weeks is likely to be secondary to what is taken over and adapted in the Epistle. Again, it is to be noted that language from Jeremiah serves the Epistle’s critique of wealth and the oppression associated with it. (v) 1 Enoch 91:12: “And to it (i.e. the eighth week) shall be given a sword, so that justice and righteousness will be executed on those who oppress, and sinners will be delivered into their hands.” (Aram.: “. . . in which [a sword] will be giv[en] to all righteous ones in order to exact a righteous judgment from all wicked ones. And they shall be delivered into their hands.”) The version in question here is the Ethiopic, not the Aramaic text, with the doublet “justice and righteousness.” The phrase is used in several writings of the Hebrew Bible to describe the reign of kings (Heb. ‫משפט וצדקה‬, LXX κρισις και δικαιοσυνη; cf. 2 Sam 8:15; 1 Kgs 10:9; 1 Chr 18:14; and Jer 23:5—a righteous 10  An Aramaic equivalent for the phrase may be found in 4QEng to 1 En. 91:13a (the Apocalypse of Weeks, “by means of righteousness”), so that for which the additional negative behind the text here can be reconstructed as ‫לא בקושט‬.

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branch who will be raised up by God to execute justice and righteousness in the land). On the other hand, it is God himself who, according to Isa 33:5, “will fill Zion with justice and righteousness,” while Prov 2:9 links the phrase with the acquisition of wisdom. The closest parallel, however, remains Jer 22:3, in which not only the phrase occurs, but also there is a correspondence of context. An oracle given to Jeremiah for the king of Judah exhorts the latter to “do justice and righteousness, and deliver from the hand of the oppressor the one who has been robbed” (NRSV). Unlike Jeremiah, the Apocalypse of Weeks envisions the execution of divine justice for the eschatological period in week eight. What Jeremiah demands through the oracle to the king, the Apocalypse of Weeks postpones to a final time of reckoning. It is possible that the Ethiopic text has accommodated the Jeremiah tradition at a secondary stage, possibly on the basis of what may have already occurred in an unpreserved Greek version. 3

Significance

In drawing on Jeremiah tradition, the Epistle does not refer to the prophet by name. This is of course the case with all ideal figures associated with literary traditions in the Hebrew Bible. The only proper name retained is that of Enoch, under whom and to whom other sacred traditions have been respectively gathered and attributed. While this point almost goes without saying, it is important that prophetic traditions, such as that of Jeremiah—and to a somewhat lesser extent, Isaiah and Amos—as well as language known through the Psalms,11 have been adapted in the Epistle and furnish language that offers leverage against what the writer regards as false inferences being made by those instructors he so vehemently criticizes in 98:9–99:2.12 The false inferences are related to another tradition, which the Epistle likewise draws heavily on: Deuteronomy. In particular, the Epistle contains one allusion to Deuteronomy 22:5 (1 En. 98:2—in a polemic against the wearing of effeminate dress by men) and at least eleven allusions to Deut 28 (cf. 1 En. 100:8b to Deut 28:29, 31; 103:9 to Deut 28:62; 103:10 to Deut 28:7, 48, 66; 11  For a summary of these influences, see Stuckenbruck, 1 Enoch 91–108, 204–6. 12  In listing prophetic influences on the Epistle, one should not leave out those from the earlier Enochic traditions, especially the Book of Watchers (1 En. 1–36), the influence of which on the Epistle is greater than that of any of the other writings from the Hebrew Bible that are discussed here. On the allusions to the Book of Watchers in the Epistle, see Stuckenbruck, 1 Enoch 91–108, 206–9.

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103:11 to Deut 28:13, 26, 33, 44, 48; 103:12 to Deut 28:48; 103:13 to Deut 28:65; and 103:15 to Deut 28:29). The potential inferences drawn from Deut 28 could be problematic for the Epistle’s attempt to advocate for those whom he regards as righteous (and therefore, in principle loyal to God’s covenant with Israel) and who, at the same time, are—on account of oppression—in no position to enjoy the privileges and blessings that are supposed to come with covenant faithfulness. If Deut 28 specifies outcomes of piety, one could infer that living in a state of socio-economic wellbeing is in itself a sign of divine blessing. On the other hand, so much of what Deut 28 specifies will happen to those unfaithful to the covenant is precisely what the Epistle regards as happening to the righteous for whom he advocates. The irony is not merely a potentiality; it is a problem of which the author is acutely aware. It is possible that those who are accused of social abuses and of acquiring wealth through means oppressive to those less fortunate are thought to be finding legitimacy in their activities by appealing to the Deuteronomic code. At the same time, the Epistle cannot dispense with the Deuteronomistic tradition without sacrificing one of the shared traditions so important to Jewish religiosity. Here, it is the language of the prophets, especially that of Jeremiah, that offers a time-honored tradition that places the Mosaic tradition within a large framework. The Epistle does not imagine that any of those being criticized will reverse their status before God; thus, if one is not to link their privileges to the Deuteronomic code, a strategy of interpretation is needed that reconfigures piety without doing away with the tradition altogether. The need for such a strategy is particularly acute if the world of the Epistle comes close to regarding it impossible for anyone among the righteous to enjoy a degree of socio-economic wellbeing. Instead of doing away with Deut 28, the Epistle adopts a perspective that postpones both the blessings and the curses described in it. The conspicuous irony that surfaces in the dense allusions to Deut 28 in 1 En. 103:9–15 cannot mask its importance for both the writer and for those who, like he, may have been attempting to come to terms with the received tradition. The Epistle, which may have been composed as early as the years just prior to the Maccabean revolt,13 is one of our earliest witnesses for the use of Jeremiah. During a time of crisis, whether perceived or real, traditions such as that of Jeremiah, which in the past had addressed matters of socio-economic 13  The question of dating the Epistle is notoriously difficult, though the main alternatives seem to be the years just prior to the Maccabean Revolt in 167 bce or the time of Alexander Janneus’ reign in 103–76; cf. Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch 1, 25–26, 427–28 and Stuckenbruck, 1 Enoch 91–108, 211–15.

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and religious disparity and the oppression linked to it, gained importance. Use of prophetic tradition would have strengthened the understanding of the Epistle’s author that, like his predecessors, he was acting in a prophetic capacity, though as one standing in the Enoch tradition from which he also draws upon so much.

chapter 24

Jeremiah, Deuteronomy and Enoch. A Response to Loren T. Stuckenbruck John J. Collins 1

Allusions to Jeremiah in the Epistle of Enoch

The influence of Jeremiah on the Enoch literature is not extensive, but it is significant, since the Epistle of Enoch is one of the earliest texts (with the book of Daniel) to make clear use of the prophetic book. Loren Stuckenbruck has given us a lucid presentation of the evidence. He is not trying to claim Jeremianic influence in every case where there is a shared word or idea. There are only five cases where he thinks direct use of Jeremiah in the Epistle of Enoch can be demonstrated. The first of these, in 1 En. 101:4–5a, 6, concerns a reference to the bounding of the sea with sand, and it does not seem to me to be very significant. The last one, in the Apocalypse of Weeks, which says that a sword will be given in the eighth week to execute justice and righteousness on oppressors, does not seem to me to be especially significant either. The suggested source text, Jer 22:3, exhorts the king to act with justice and righteousness. Stuckenbruck comments: Unlike Jeremiah, the Apocalypse of Weeks envisions the execution of divine justice for the eschatological period in week eight. What Jeremiah demands through the oracle to the king, the Apocalypse of Weeks postpones to a final time of reckoning.1 At most, I think, we could consider this to be a case where the Epistle is indebted to Jeremiah among other traditions, but demands for “justice and righteousness” are ubiquitous in the Hebrew Bible. That leaves us with three passages in the Epistle of Enoch that evoke Jeremiah: 1 En. 94:6–7 (“woe to those who build their houses with sin,” cf. Jer 22:13); 1 En. 95:1 (“who would allow my eyes to become a cloud of water,” cf. Jer 9:1); and 1 En. 97:8a (“woe to you who gain silver and gold which are not through righteousness,” compare Jer 17:11 and 22:13). There is undeniable 1  Loren Stuckenbruck, “Jeremianic Elements in the Enochic Tradition,” in this volume, p. 277.

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affinity between the Epistle and Jeremiah in their protests against injustice. The use of Jeremianic language is not very extensive, but there is some, and it adds a weight of traditional association to the polemic of the Enochic writer. 2

Enoch and Deuteronomy

Stuckenbruck, however, claims a more subtle use of Jeremiah in the Epistle, which depends on triangulation with allusions to Deuteronomy. He identifies “at least eleven allusions to Deut 28,”2 all but one of them clustered in 1 En. 103:9–15.3 Deuteronomy 28 gives the blessings and curses of the covenant. In general, those who keep the law will be blessed in this life; those who do not will be cursed. As Stuckenbruck notes, “one could infer that living in a state of socio-economic wellbeing is in itself a sign of divine blessing. On the other hand, so much of what Deut 28 specifies will happen to those unfaithful to the covenant is precisely what the Epistle regards as happening to the righteous for whom he advocates.”4 The main passage where Loren finds allusions to Deut 28, in 1 En. 103:9–15, is an admonition to the righteous not to say that they have toiled in vain and suffered oppression, despite their righteousness. The admonition is followed by an assurance in chapter 104 that “the angels in heaven make mention of you for good before the glory of the Great One.” So, while “formerly you were worn out by evils and tribulations, now you will shine like the luminaries of heaven.” It is not the case that they have suffered the curses that should fall on those who did not keep the covenant. Rather, reward and punishment is only manifest in the hereafter. The reward of shining like the luminaries of heaven has its closest parallel in Dan 12, but we are not sure whether the Epistle or Daniel was written first, and so the direction of influence is uncertain. One could, I think, quibble with some of the alleged allusions to Deuteronomy, but there are enough points of contact to establish Stuckenbruck’s point. A few examples will suffice: 103:9: “we were consumed and became few.” Compare Deut 28:62: “you shall be left few in number.”

2  Stuckenbruck, “Jeremianic Elements in the Enochic Tradition,” p. 277. 3  See also Stuckenbruck’s full commentary on this passage: Loren Stuckenbruck, 1 Enoch 91–108 (CEJL; Berlin: de Gruyter, 2007) 537–61. 4  Stuckenbruck, “Jeremianic Elements in the Enochic Tradition,” p. 278.

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103:11: “the lawless weighed down their yoke on us.” Compare Deut 28:48: “he will put an iron yoke on your neck.” 103:13: “We found no place to flee and be safe from them.” Compare Deut 28:65: “Among the nations you will find no ease, no resting place for the sole of your foot.” One can see how the relative fortunes of the righteous and the wicked could be construed as corresponding to the curses or blessings of the covenant. Stuckenbruck suggests that “it is possible that those who are accused of social abuses and of acquiring wealth through means oppressive to those less fortunate are thought to be finding legitimacy in their activities by appealing to the Deuteronomic code.”5 This is a bold suggestion. The closest the Epistle comes to accusing the wicked of perversely invoking some scripture is in 99:2: “Woe to you who alter the true words and pervert the everlasting covenant (or law) and consider themselves to be without sin.” That is intriguing, but the “everlasting covenant” is more likely to refer to the covenant with Noah in Genesis than to Deuteronomy.6 In his commentary on the passage Stuckenbruck writes: What is it that the errorists have “changed”? We may presume that they would have considered themselves as faithful adherents to tradition, a tradition that was not Enochic at its core. Hence the writer was persuaded that his Enochic worldview was a perspective that is more fundamental as revelation than its more derivative Mosaic counterpart.7 Interestingly, Jeremiah also complains that his opponents have falsified the Law: How can you say, we are wise, and the law of the Lord is with us when, in fact, the false pen of the scribes has made it into a lie? (Jer 8:8) In 1 En. 99:2, the falsification of the Law results in self-righteousness, and this is quite compatible with the view that they saw themselves as the beneficiaries of the blessings of the covenant. Jeremiah also accuses his opponents of selfrighteousness, and misplaced confidence in their understanding of the Law.

5  Stuckenbruck, “Jeremianic Elements in the Enochic Tradition,” p. 278. 6  George W. E. Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch 1: Chapters 1–36, 81–108 (Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2001) 489, says, “whether the passage refers to the Mosaic Torah is doubtful.” 7  Stuckenbruck, The Epistle of Enoch, 379.

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Stuckenbruck argues that while the Epistle rejects the view of Deuteronomy on retribution in this world, it “cannot dispense with the Deuteronomistic tradition without sacrificing one of the shared traditions so important to Jewish religiosity.”8 Hence it turns to the language of the prophets, especially that of Jeremiah, to pit one time-honored tradition against another. Whether the Enochic writer could not dispense with Deuteronomy, however, is open to question. The status of the Mosaic, i.e., Deuteronomic, covenant in the books of Enoch has been controversial. George Nickelsburg notes that the only explicit reference to the Sinai covenant in the Epistle appears in the Apocalypse of Weeks in 1 En. 93:6, which says that “a covenant for all generations and a tabernacle” will be made in the fourth week.9 There is no polemic against the Torah in the Enochic literature, but it is never the explicit frame of reference. In this respect, the Enochic literature stands in striking contrast to Jubilees, which retells the stories of Genesis from a distinctly Mosaic perspective, with explicit halakic interests.10 The revelation to Enoch is prior to that of Moses and in no way subordinated to it. As Nickelsburg has argued, “the general category of covenant was not important for these authors.”11 The word is rare. To quote Nickelsburg again: In short, the heart of the religion of 1 Enoch juxtaposes election, revealed wisdom, the right and wrong ways to respond to this wisdom, and God’s rewards and punishments for this conduct. Although all the components of “covenantal nomism” are present in this scheme, the word covenant rarely appears and Enoch takes the place of Moses as the mediator of revelation. In addition, the presentation of this religion is dominated by a notion of revelation—the claim that the books of Enoch are the embodiment of God’s wisdom, which was received in primordial times and is being revealed in the eschaton to God’s chosen ones.12

8   Stuckenbruck, “Jeremianic Elements in the Enochic Tradition,” p. 278. 9   Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch 1, 489. 10  See the debate on this issue in Gabriele Boccaccini and Giovanni Ibba, eds., Enoch and the Mosaic Torah: The Evidence of Jubilees (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 2009). 11  George W. E. Nickelsburg, “Enochic Wisdom: An Alternative to the Mosaic Torah?” in Hesed Ve-Emet: Studies in Honor of Ernest S. Frerichs (ed. Jodi Magness and Seymour Gitin; BJS 320; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1998), 125. 12  Ibid., 129.

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The understanding of the relationship between the elect and God in 1 Enoch may be covenantal, in the sense that it is based on laws that entail reward or punishment as their consequences, but it is not based on the Mosaic covenant, which was so widely accepted as the foundation of Jewish religion in the Hellenistic period. We should not then assume that the Epistle cannot dispense with the Deuteronomistic tradition without sacrificing one of the shared traditions so important to Jewish religiosity. It dispenses with important aspects of the Deuteronomistic tradition in any case, insofar as it rejects the idea that the righteous are rewarded and the wicked punished in this life. And this is really the point at issue in 1 En. 103. The Epistle had no quarrel with Deuteronomy, or with the Mosaic tradition, in the matter of justice and righteousness. But where does Jeremiah fit in to all this? Stuckenbruck suggests that “prophetic traditions, such as that of Jeremiah . . . have been adapted in the Epistle and furnish language that offers leverage against what the writer regards as false inferences being made by those instructors he so vehemently criticizes in 98:9–99:2.”13 I agree that the Epistle is borrowing and adapting some language from Jeremiah. But is it being used to counter false inferences from Deuteronomy? None of the clearer allusions to Jeremiah is found either in 1 En. 103, in conjunction with the allusions to Deuteronomy or in the polemical section in 98:9–99:2. The main ones are used to bolster the argument against those building their houses with sin or gaining gold and silver, but not through righteousness. These are matters on which Jeremiah was basically in accord with Deuteronomy. When the issue is whether righteous and wicked receive their reward in this life, however, Jeremiah has no help to offer. In this respect, Jeremiah was no different from Deuteronomy. First Enoch 100:5b, “and even though the righteous ones will sleep a long sleep, there will be nothing for them to fear,” has no real parallel in Jeremiah. Stuckenbruck considers this verse as a possible allusion to Jeremiah, but properly dismisses it. However we understand the enigmatic verse in Jer 31:26 (“I awoke, and looked, and my sleep was pleasant to me”), it does not refer to the sleep of death. In short, the influence of Jeremiah on the Epistle of Enoch is quite limited, and it is mainly in evidence in denunciations of social justice. This, of course, is significant. As Stuckenbruck notes, the Epistle is one of our earliest witnesses to the use of Jeremiah at all. The strong commitment to justice was something that the Epistle shared not only with Jeremiah, but also with the Deuteronomic tradition. Where it differed from that tradition was in the timing of judgment—against Deuteronomy, it held that the reward and 13  Stuckenbruck, “Jeremianic Elements in the Enochic Tradition,” p. 277.

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punishment of righteous and wicked would not be manifest until the afterlife. Its relationship to Deuteronomy seems to me ambivalent. It affirms a doctrine of retribution, and may possibly, but not certainly, be defending the righteous against the charge that they are suffering the curses of the covenant, but its apocalyptic worldview was fundamentally at odds with that of Deuteronomy insofar as it deferred the judgment to the afterlife. The author clearly knew Deuteronomy. It is not so clear what authority he accorded to it. He evidently did not feel constrained by its theology. The allusions to Jeremiah do not bear on this tension at all, although they do provide traditional support for the preaching of the Epistle on social justice.

chapter 25

Is Enoch also among the (Jeremianic) Prophets? A Response to Loren T. Stuckenbruck Ryan C. Stoner In his paper on the early Enochic traditions and their apparent use of traditions associated with the book of Jeremiah, Loren Stuckenbruck situates several examples along a continuum of possible influence, from (1) broader, prophetic traditions also associated with Jeremiah, to (2) closer but nevertheless inconclusive links between Jeremiah and the Epistle of Enoch/Apocalypse of Weeks and (3) direct or deliberate uses and transformations of Jeremianic tradition. Stuckenbruck also considers how the use of this material may have contributed to the argument of the Epistle as a whole, especially in regard to matters of false teachers/leaders and their behavior (i.e., issues of social justice). In regard to the first substantive section of the paper (i.e. Jeremiah among other traditions), I believe Stuckenbruck is right in his caution that allusions to Jer 7:25–26 and 8:1–2 (cf. 25:33) in 1 En. 98:9 and 98:13, respectively, cannot be substantiated with utter confidence. The shared motifs found in the Epistle and Jeremiah are also present in a great number of texts and contexts in the Second Temple period. Specifically in regard to the undug graves in 1 En. 98:13, such a motif is apparently so widespread that it may be an intuitive, socioanthropological reflection on a common practice (or “a religious duty” as Stuckenbruck puts it) rather than the replication or reuse of a literary trope. Furthermore, the literary connection is rather loose in another way: 1 Enoch speaks of the total absence of graves (“graves will not be dug for you”), while Jer 8:1–2 seems to suggest that bodies are buried in “tombs” only subsequently to be pulled out onto the ground and trampled (1 En. 99:2; Jer 25:33). The end result (i.e., bodies littering the ground) may be the same, but the difference between 1 Enoch and Jeremiah’s use of the imagery leaves the direct influence of the latter on the former in question as Stuckenbruck rightly concludes. In the third section (i.e., direct use of Jeremiah), Stuckenbruck discusses the maritime imagery in 1 En. 101:4–5a, 6 and Jer 5:22. It is particularly interesting that both texts make use of both “fear” and the taming of the sea by sand. This factor, as Stuckenbruck notes, makes the use of Jer 5 in 1 En. 101 plausible. In this particular case, however, I wonder as to how the relationship of 1 En. 101:4–5a, 6 to Jer 5:22 is different from the examples offered in section one of the paper © koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���7 | doi ��.��63/9789004320253_026

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(i.e., Jeremiah among other traditions). I ask this question for two reasons: (1) Stuckenbruck points out a number other traditions that allude to the danger of the sea (albeit not in the same mode of “fear” in 1 Enoch or Jeremiah) and, more importantly, (2) the use of the imagery is quite distinct in each case; the “fear” described in 1 En. 101:4–6 is that of losing wealth (“they fear that all their goodly possessions will go forth into the sea with them”) while in Jer 5:22 the “fear” is that of God, who has power to contain and control the sea (“do you not fear me, says the Lord, do you not tremble before me?”). As Stuckenbruck notes in regard to this 1 Enoch passage, the connection to Jeremiah is plausible, but the author of the Epistle has taken a fair amount of poetic license in turning the motif to suit the text’s particular argument. In light of Stuckenbruck’s detailed assessment of “allusions,” “echoes,” and “degrees of influence,” the difficulties encountered in the analysis and determination of what is Jeremianic in 1 Enoch become apparent. This should prompt us to reframe or extend the questions we ask of texts when we encounter “refractions” of Jeremiah or other traditions. In addition to determining the literary influence of Jeremiah on 1 Enoch, we might ponder how 1 Enoch participates in the ongoing reception, growth, and transformation of Jeremiah’s scriptures and how (or if) “Enoch” emulates or embodies the prophetic figure of Jeremiah. For me, this opens avenues of needed inquiry into the status and nature of prophecy in the late Second Temple period and the continued relevance of Jeremiah’s scriptures: did, as Stuckenbruck asks, the writer of the Epistle of Enoch regard himself as a prophet? If so, what does the presentation of Jeremianic or prophetic material in Enochic dress say about the reception of prophetic literature in the context of apocalypses or other later material?1 To play on the people’s question regarding Saul’s prophetic activity (1 Sam 19:24), we of the scholarly community can ask in new ways whether Enoch is also among the Jeremianic prophets. This is complicated by the lack of directly used material or reference to the figure of Jeremiah as is found in Daniel, who explicitly interprets and extends the meaning of Jeremiah and his “books” (Dan 9:2). At the same time, we might consider how the various Enochic personae viewed the revelations recorded in 1 Enoch to have received and transformed prophetic themes and how the authors saw Enochic prophecy standing with (or opposed to) the prophecy of old. Stuckenbruck provides a start to this endeavor and rightly asks whether the writer of the Epistle regarded such material as prophecy. Perhaps it is better to cast the net wider and consider how material like 1 Enoch participates in the reception, growth, and transformation of prophecy 1  Cf. John Barton, Oracles of God: Perceptions of Ancient Prophecy in Israel after the Exile (New York: Oxford University Press, 1988).

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found in what becomes the Hebrew Bible or how prophecy for some groups was not dead, but reconfigured and renewed by looking to different traditions. What also makes the challenge of assessing Enoch’s relationship to Jeremiah and his scriptures all the more interesting is the fact that a discourse and range of textual material develop around the figure of Enoch in 1 Enoch and elsewhere (e.g. Book of Giants, 2 Enoch).2 A particular facet of this is, as Stuckenbruck shows, the eclectic nature of the material in which different traditions (e.g. Deuteronomic, prophetic, Jeremianic) are woven together in the Epistle by the virtuosic sage/scribe “Enoch” in command of various scriptures combined with the scribe’s own access to new revelation. The study of the “Enochic” discourse and its growth might then provide insight into how to conceptualize the development and extension of Jeremiah’s scriptures and turn our attention to the generative and creative modes of extending and reconfiguring prophecy.

2  Cf. Hindy Najman, Seconding Sinai: The Development of Mosaic Discourse in Second Temple Judaism (Leiden: Brill, 2003).

Chapter 26

Jeremiah’s Scriptures in the Dead Sea Scrolls and the Growth of a Tradition Eibert Tigchelaar 1

The Book of Jeremiah

In Jeremiah research there are widely diverging opinions about the composition of the book of Jeremiah. The same is true for models of the book’s growth and composition. These range from attribution of the book (or most of it) to Jeremiah and the scribes surrounding him, to series of successive accretions to the text throughout a longer period of time (various forms of the so-called rolling corpus theory), to redactional additions to and editions of the entire book. Such variety is also found with regard to the dates connected to the composition or its versions. They span from soon after Jerusalem’s fall up to the Maccabean era. And discord applies to the assessment of the relationship between the shorter form of the book as attested in the Septuagint, and the longer form as transmitted through the Masoretic tradition. The major contribution of the Judean Desert Jeremiah fragments is that they demonstrate that some of the differences between the Greek and the Masoretic text did not result from the process of translation into the Greek, or during the Greek transmission, but were already found in Hebrew texts which could have served as a Vorlage for the Greek translator.1 We now have three fairly small fragments from different manuscripts—4Q71 (4QJerb), 4Q72a (4QJerd), and the Schøyen fragment—that are in some ways closer to the shorter (LXX) version than to the longer MT version. It remains difficult, however, to assess the implications of these three fragments, since most scholars interpret the evidence to fit their own models. 4QJerb has accordingly been interpreted by Pierre-Maurice Bogaert and Emanuel Tov as confirmation of the two literary editions hypothesis,2 by 1  For a list of the presently known materials, cf. below, Appendix 1: Judean Desert Manuscripts and Fragments of the Book of Jeremiah. 2  Pierre-Maurice Bogaert, “Les mécanismes rédactionnels en Jér 10,1–16 (LXX et TM) et la signification des suppléments,” in Le Livre de Jérémie: Le prophète et son milieu, les oracles et leur transmission (ed. Pierre-Maurice Bogaert; BETL 54; Leuven: Peeters, 1981; expanded second

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William McKane as evidence of the rolling corpus model,3 and by, e.g., Jack Lundbom as evidence of later textual corruption.4 On the basis of what I see as the scrolls evidence, I will highlight three features. First, because of the very fragmentary nature of the three LXX-like fragments, we cannot simply assume with Tov “that the complete scrolls of 4QJerb,d would also have agreed with the LXX in the chapters which have not been preserved.”5 This assumption is based on the possible but not necessary model of two distinct and variant literary editions. For example, we have no textual evidence of the different LXX arrangement of the Oracles against Foreign Nations in our manuscripts.6 Second, five out of the seven manuscripts are not aligned exclusively to either the MT or the LXX text. This holds for variants on the word level, while 4QJerb and 4QJerd also have unique variants on the level of phrases, different from both MT and LXX.7 In other words, from a composition-critical perspective there may be a clear-cut distinction between MT and LXX, but on the textcritical level the distinction is fuzzier than one might expect. Thirdly, and for the topic of this conference the most relevant, the limited evidence in our possession does not attest to ongoing literary growth of the

edition 1997), 222–38 and Emanuel Tov, “Some Aspects of the Textual and Literary History of the Book of Jeremiah,” ibid., 145–67. 3  William McKane, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Jeremiah: Introduction and Commentary on Jeremiah I–XXV (ICC; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1986), 220. See also his “The History of the Text of Jeremiah 10,1–16,” in Mélanges bibliques et orientaux en l’honneur de M. Mathias Delcor (ed. André Caquot et al.; AOAT 215; Neukirchen: Neukirchen-Vluyn, 1985), 297–304. 4  Jack R. Lundbom, Jeremiah 1–20 (AB 21A; New Haven: Yale University Press, 1999), 581–82: “fails to inspire confidence in the LXX and 4QJerb text, which seem clearly to be in disarray after v 4 (Cornill on the LXX: ‘very corrupt and in a mutilated condition’) . . . the MT is far and away the better text.” 5  Emanuel Tov, “The Contribution of the Qumran Scrolls to the Understanding of the LXX,” in The Greek and Hebrew Bible: Collected Essays on the Septuagint (SVT 72; Leiden: Brill, 1999), 285–300, at 294; repr. in Septuagint, Scrolls and Cognate Writings (ed. George J. Brooke and Barnabas Lindars; SBLSCS 33; Atlanta: Scholars, 1992), 11–47. 6  Given that 4QJerd (Jer 43[50]:2–10) has a textually mixed character, one should consider the possibility that it came from a scroll that had the LXX sequence, and thus came from close to the end of the scroll. The short distance between the protrusions at the top of the scroll could confirm this assumption, but the distance between these protrusions alone is not strong enough material evidence to confirm the LXX sequence for this scroll. 7  For the mixed character of 4QJerd see Appendix 2: The Mixed Textual Character of 4QJerd.

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text of the book of Jeremiah after the early second century bce.8 This lack of evidence may be a result of the fragmentary nature of the material. Or perhaps we should ascribe it to the trend towards the fixation of its text. In the case of Jeremiah, the apparent absence of development of the scriptural text may also be related to the focus on specific topics, which are instead elaborated in new works. I will, therefore, not focus on the biblical Jeremiah manuscripts. Instead, I will discuss the growth of Jeremianic traditions in other Judean Desert texts and relate these both to scriptural and to other important contemporary texts, especially Jubilees. I will start with a few narrative fragments that deal with the figure of Jeremiah and then discuss the composition of what is now called Apocryphon of Jeremiah C. I argue that the work, or at least one of its manuscripts, is a collection, including earlier material such as the Thebes oracle that is found in a different form in Nah 3. A basic question throughout the discussion will be the extent to which these later texts introduce new material or expand traditions that are initiated by the scriptural Jeremiah, such as Jeremiah as second Moses, the transformation of the seventy-years tradition of Jer 29 into a much broader Jubilean chronology, and the use of Jer 31’s “new covenant” in other Dead Sea scrolls. 2

Fragments Dealing with the Figure of Jeremiah

In the case of the very fragmentary Jeremiah materials,9 both John Strugnell, the originally appointed editor, and Devorah Dimant, who published most of the texts, were at a loss. In multiple cases one cannot be sure about the correct 8  The palaeographic dating of 4Q70 (with a “proto-masoretic” textual character), between ca. 225 and 175 bce, is in conflict with the suggestion made by scholars like Adrian Schenker, Christian Amphoux, and Arnaud Sérandour that the long MT form is a mid-second century reworking of the shorter form attested in the LXX. Cf., e.g., Adrian Schenker, “La rédaction longue du livre de Jérémie: doit-elle etre datée au temps des premiers Hasmonéens?” ETL 70 (1994): 281–93, who dates the long recension in 140 bce. 9  In the DJD series, apart from biblical manuscripts, eight manuscripts have received a name connected to Jeremiah, namely 4Q383 (4QApocryphon of Jeremiah A), 4Q384 (4QApocryphon of Jeremiah B), and 4Q385a, 4Q387, 4Q388a, 4Q389, 4Q390, and 4Q387a (4QApocryphon of Jeremiah Ca–f). Three other manuscripts might also have been connected to Jeremianic materials, namely 4Q470 (4QText Concerning Zedekiah), 4Q483 (4QNarrative D), and 6Q12 (6QApocr Prophecy). Only three of those manuscripts mention Jeremiah, namely 4Q383 in a phrase ‫;ואני ירמיה‬‎4Q385a referring to ‫ ;ירמיה הנביא‬and 4Q389 ‫ירמיה בן חלקיה‬. Two texts refer to Tahpanhes, namely 4Q384 and 4Q385a.

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Tigchelaar

assignment of fragments to manuscripts, about the sequence of the fragments within manuscripts, about the relation of manuscripts to literary works, or about possible forms of those works. It is now clear that five manuscripts contained the same historical apocalypse apparently connected to Jeremiah, and this is the only part that preserves a largely consecutive and intact text.10 Yet, we do not know whether these five manuscripts were all copies of the same work or collection or how the text of other manuscripts relates to this Jeremiah composition, which Dimant calls Apocryphon of Jeremiah C. For example, Dimant suggests that 4Q390 was part of the same composition,11 and 4Q384 probably was not even a Jeremianic work. I disagree on both accounts. Because of these uncertainties, I will turn to manuscripts and compositions later, starting instead by briefly looking at the few fragments that speak about Jeremiah.12 The two largest sections are on 4Q385a frag. 18.13 They are in two consecutive but fragmentary columns, which can be related to Jer 40 and 43–44, dealing respectively with Jeremiah going along with the captives 10  In the DJD edition, and in Kipp Davis, The Cave 4 Apocryphon of Jeremiah and the Qumran Jeremianic Traditions (STDJ 111; Leiden: Brill, 2014), textual overlaps within this apocalypse section are recorded between 4Q385a, 4Q387, 4Q388, and 4Q389. To these one should add overlaps with 4Q387a, one identified by Elisha Qimron (4Q387a 5 par 4Q385a 1a–b ii) and two more by the present author (4Q387a 3 par 4Q389 2; 4Q387a 4 par 4Q389 5). Cf. for details the forthcoming revised Dead Sea Scrolls Study Edition. 11  The relation of 4Q390 to the (other?) five Apocryphon of Jeremiah C manuscripts is strongly mooted. Dimant insists that 4Q390 belongs to the Apocryphon, whereas scholars, including the present author, have argued on material, linguistic, or content grounds that it does not. For a nuanced survey and discussion, cf. Davis, Cave 4 Apocryphon, chapter 4. 12  On these fragments, cf. especially Devorah Dimant, “An Apocryphon of Jeremiah from Cave 4 (4Q385b = 4Q385 16),” in New Qumran Texts and Studies (ed. George J. Brooke; STDJ 15; Leiden: Brill, 1994), 11–30; eadem, “From the Book of Jeremiah to the Qumranic Apocryphon of Jeremiah,” DSD 20 (2013): 452–71; George J. Brooke, “The Book of Jeremiah and Its Reception in the Qumran Scrolls,” in The Book of Jeremiah and Its Reception (ed. Adrian H. W. Curtis and Thomas Römer; BETL 128; Leuven: Peeters, 1997), 183–205; Lutz Doering, “Jeremia in Babylonien und Ägypten: Mündliche und schriftliche Toraparänese für Exil und Diaspora nach 4QApocryphon of Jeremiah C,” in Frühjudentum und Neues Testament im Horizont Biblischer Theologie (ed. Wolfgang Kraus and Karl-Wilhelm Niebuhr; WUNT I/162; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2003), 50–79; idem, “Jeremiah and the ‘Diaspora Letters’ in Ancient Judaism: Epistolary Communication with the Golah as Medium for Dealing with the Present,” in Reading the Present in the Qumran Library (ed. Kristin De Troyer and Armin Lange; SBLSS 30; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2005), 44–72. 13  For text and translation of the texts, cf. Appendix 3: Apocryphon of Jeremiah C Texts Mentioning Jeremiah.

Jeremiah ’ s Scriptures in the Dead Sea Scrolls

293

from Jerusalem to Babylon up to a certain river, and with Jeremiah located in Tahpanhes, rebuking those who fled from Jerusalem to Egypt. A third fragment, 4Q389 1, may refer to a public reading of a writing or letter of Jeremiah at the river Sour. These poorly preserved narrative fragments give witness to some traditions not found in the book of Jeremiah, but in other Jeremianic or Baruch texts: Jeremiah accompanying the deportees to Babylon up to the Euphrates and exhorting them, or Baruch’s reading of a writing at the river Soud. With respect to details, these traditions in part run counter to the descriptions in Jer 39–44 and 51—which themselves are inconsistent—and the idiom of the fragments only rarely corresponds to Jeremiah’s. See, e.g., the verb ‫ שבה‬rather than ‫גלה‬, the noun ‫ שבוים‬instead of ‫גלות‬, or the verb ‫ הכה‬used with Nebuzaradan. There are though a few correspondences with Jeremianic phrases, like the juxtaposition of ‫( רנה ותפלה‬Jer 7:16; 11:14; 4Q385a 18 ii 4). From this I draw the conclusion that, by and large, these sections are not directly dependent on the text of Jeremiah, but ascribe traditions to the figure of Jeremiah that contain diverging details and other words. What then is the purpose of these fragments? There are two important related aspects of these Jeremianic fragments. The first, and observed by other scholars, is that they “portray Jeremiah in terms like Moses” and introduce an exhortation to keep the covenant, study God’s statutes, and keep his commandments. Lutz Doering sums this up in one word: Toraparänese. Of course, there are already parallels between Jeremiah and Moses within the book of Jeremiah, but here we have new analogies with a specific function. In the book of Jeremiah, the prophet Jeremiah urges the exiles in Babylon to endure for the completion of Babylon’s seventy years until the eventual restoration. In contrast, his prophecy to those who fled to Egypt offers no hope. Here, however, Jeremiah gives the exiles, like Moses the Israelites at Horeb, instructions for a pious life that is centred around God’s covenant and his commandments. In those fragments the prophet is presented as teacher. A second aspect of the growth of tradition in these fragments is that of Jeremiah and lament. In 4Q385a 18 ii 2–5, Jeremiah at Tahpanhes does not intercede on behalf of those who ask him to, he instead laments (‫ )ויהי מקונן‬over Jerusalem.14 The use of ‫קונן‬, not found in the book of Jeremiah, links the tradition to 2 Chr 35:25, which tells how Jeremiah utters a lament over Josiah, but here the function is different. No more than a few words of a fragment remain, and we have to construct a context and a meaning. If Jeremiah’s lamenting is connected to the preceding refusal to intercede and has Jer 42–44 as background, then the lament underscores the end of hope: the audience, including Jeremiah himself, will not see Jerusalem anymore. Such a reading is suggested 14  Admittedly, there are a few words lost in between ‫ ויהי מקונן‬and ‫על ירושלים‬.

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by the paragraphing, where the lament ends the paragraph. However, if we read on and connect the paragraphs running from the refusal to intercede to lament and then further to exhortation, then, within the larger narrative, Jeremiah’s lament anticipates, and perhaps even enables, the possibility of a new future. A weeping Jeremiah is also found in 4Q383 frag. 1.15 Even more than the narrative and geographical differences, these apparent transformations of Jeremiah’s function are critical for assessing the growth of the tradition. Were those reshapings derived from reading and interpreting the text of the book of Jeremiah, or were they an intentional corrective expansion of the figure of Jeremiah? In a similar vein, one may wonder whether Jeremiah’s accompanying the deportees to the river (Euphrates?) originated in existing traditions, or whether it was created as part of the reformulation of the figure of Jeremiah. 3

A Jeremianic Collection

These narrative Jeremiah fragments of 4Q385a and 4Q389 can be assigned to manuscripts that also contain sections of an historical apocalypse, of which the period from Nebuchadnezzar up to the Hasmoneans is fairly well preserved. Yet, the place of these fragments within their respective manuscripts, and within the literary composition is difficult to determine. Dimant imagines these fragments as the literary framework of the apocalypse: at the beginning the public reading of a writing from Jeremiah, son of Hilkiah (4Q389 1); at its end Jeremiah’s exhortations (4Q385a 18 i–ii). In his edition, Qimron switches the bookends,16 and Davis speculates about still other possibilities.17 On material grounds, I place the just-discussed narrative fragments 4Q385a 18, and the immediately preceding fragments 4Q385a 14–17, at the end of 4Q385a, just like Strugnell and Dimant do. But if one arranges the fragments in that order, then what is the literary character of the text? Dimant viewed 15  4Q383 frag. 1, lines 2–4 of which I read as follows:

[‫ בנות‬. . . ‫ ואני ירמיה בכו אב]כה‬2 [. . .‫ יענה בארץ לוא נוש]בה‬3 [. . .]‫ על אשר העדותי‬4  2 And I, Jeremiah, we[ep] bitterly [. . .] 3 ostriche[s], in an uninha[bited] land [. . .] 4 because I have witnessed [. . .] 16  Elisha Qimron, The Dead Sea Scrolls: The Hebrew Writings. Volume Two (Jerusalem: Yad Ben-Zvi Press, 2013), 95–100. 17  Davis, Cave 4 Apocryphon, 83, 90–93.

Jeremiah ’ s Scriptures in the Dead Sea Scrolls

295

the entire composition as an apocalypse within a narrative framework. The apocalypse describes Israel’s history from the exodus, through the exile and the Hasmonean period, and perhaps up to the eschaton. Some words (“their waters of life,” and “the tree/the garden of life”)18 would depict an end-time paradisiacal scene. However, immediately after these words follows a new paragraph with the so-called quotation or rewriting of Nah 3:8–10 on the fall of Thebes. And apparently, immediately after this oracle, in the following column after some lost lines,19 the narrative of Jeremiah accompanying the deportees to the river continued. This so-called quotation of Nahum is one of the keys for my interpretation of the fragmentary manuscript 4Q385a as containing a “Jeremianic collection.”20 4Q385a 17 ii 4–9 has a Nahum text that repeatedly differs from the MT but closely corresponds with that of the Septuagint to such an extent that we can talk about two versions. Crucial is that the LXX has a double reading of the first stich, one corresponding with that of MT and the other with that of this fragment, thus attesting to different forms of the oracle. The MT introduction “Are you (i.e., Nineveh) better than Thebes (No Amon)” embeds the conquest of Thebes in a prophecy about the end of Nineveh. The 4Q385a introduction, “Your portion has been prepared, O Amon,” has a different addressee and lacks the Nineveh context. On the basis of the variant readings, repeatedly consisting of synonyms, I propose that there was a double tradition of this literary block that circulated independently.21 However, regardless of one’s interpretation of 18  It is difficult to decide whether the text in 4Q385a 17 ii 3 read ‫ גן החיים‬or ‫עץ החיים‬, and it is possible that one reading has been corrected to the other. The problems of this reading extend to the different reading and construction of the preceding letters. 19  Based on the assumption that frgs. 17 ii and 18 i represent successive columns. This assumption cannot be proven, but it is built on the observation that, given the photographic evidence of PAM 40.963, one of the top fragments of the conglomerate frag. 18 (the one with ‫ )מלפני יהוה‬apparently had been attached to frgs. 16a and 17b, and that those three fragments, even though not entirely of the same form, may represent three convolutions of the scroll (Dimant’s statement in DJD 30:159, that “they were on top of the pile” is possible, but not entirely exact.). 20  For the text, cf. Appendix 4: Nahum 3:8–10 in different forms. Note that at several places, I read differently than either Dimant in the DJD edition, or Qimron in his edition (The Dead Sea Scrolls, 2:89) do. 21  Contra Devorah Dimant, “A Quotation from Nahum 3:8–10 in 4Q385 6,” in The Bible in the Light of Its Interpreters: Sarah Kalmin Memorial Volume (ed. Sara Japhet; Jerusalem: Magnes, 1994), 31–37 [Hebrew] and in part also contra Menahem Kister, “A Common Heritage: Biblical Interpretation at Qumran and Its Implications,” in Biblical Perspectives: Early Use and Interpretation of the Bible in Light of the Dead Sea Scrolls (ed. Michael E. Stone and Esther G. Chazon; STDJ 28; Leiden: Brill, 1998), 101–11, at 107–8 n. 26. I stand

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the relation to Nah 3, the 4Q385a text does not relate in a clear manner to either what precedes or to what follows. The 4Q385a Thebes section is separated from the preceding text by a paragraph break. This may suggest that the end of the text consisted of an appendix or collection of things not found in the book of Jeremiah, but nonetheless connected to Jeremiah. The inclusion of the 4Q385a version of this oracle in a Jeremianic text may be related to Jeremiah’s oracle on the judgment of Egypt, which was plausibly seen to be fulfilled by Antiochus IV’s invasion of Egypt.22 This example of an oracle in two different forms with two different wordings, one in MT Nahum, and one in the Jeremianic Collection of 4Q385a, that apparently were both known by the Septuagint translators, conforms to one of the compositional or redactional techniques discovered in the Hebrew Bible. In the preceding columns, we have other unknown oracular materials, which are, however, too small and fragmented to be analyzed.23 From the perspective of manuscript philology, it cannot be determined whether the Jeremianic blocks in the 4Q385a appendices belonged to a fixed Jeremianic Collection, or whether 4Q385a constituted a kind of Sammelhandschrift, and was more extensive than the other manuscripts. 4

The Jeremiah Apocalypse

A central part of the Jeremianic collection of 4Q385a and the major preserved part in the other manuscripts is the “Jeremiah Apocalypse.” This text is, like many other historical apocalypses, written as a first-person divine discourse and addressed to a second plural audience, using past tense for descriptions of preexilic events and future tense for those after the destruction. Initially, before Dimant associated the apocalypse with the Jeremiah fragments, she referred to this apocalypse as a Pseudo-Moses text. But if the apocalypse was attributed to the prophet Jeremiah, does it then connect and extend elements from the book of Jeremiah, or only expand the figure of the prophet Jeremiah? On the whole, neither the apocalypse nor the other parts of the collection have typical Jeremianic phraseology, but occasionally we find expressions similar to those from the book of Jeremiah, such as ‫כאשר עשו הם ומלכיהם כהניהם‬, much closer to Heinz-Josef Fabry, Nahum (HTKAT; Freiburg: Herder, 2006), 202 who briefly refers to two text traditions without further elaboration. 22  For this possible historical context, see Dimant, in DJD 30:158–59. 23  This also holds true if one places frgs. 15 ii–16 and 17 i in one and the same column, like Davis and I do.

Jeremiah ’ s Scriptures in the Dead Sea Scrolls

297

“as they did, they and their kings, their priests” (4Q385a 18 i 10; cf. Jer 44:17) or ‫ארץ שבים‬, “the land of their captivity” (Jer 30:10; 46:27; 4Q385a 18 i 7). And while the text has a quotation from or correspondence to Amos (cf. the wording of Amos 8:11 used in 4Q387 3 8–9), and the oracle is similar to Nah 3:8–10, no comparable example from Jeremiah has been preserved. However, we do encounter, in a composite text consisting of three columns of the Jeremiah Apocalypse,24 some concerns that connect the work to the book of Jeremiah. This appears first for the interpretation and specification of Jeremiah’s seventy years, here interpreted as ten jubilees, and connected, as in 2 Chr 36:21 with the Sabbaths of the land which have to be made up.25 Second, both the book of Jeremiah and the Jeremiah Apocalypse are critically engaged with the Jerusalem priests and kings, and their relation to the cult. And perhaps thirdly, the Jeremiah Apocalypse shows, in some of its broken oracular parts, an interest in and specific statements about foreign nations. However, those sections are terribly damaged, which makes it hard to judge whether we still have the narrative prose of the divine discourse of the Jeremiah Apocalypse, or alternatively other poetic oracles included in the Jeremianic Collection. The Jeremiah Apocalypse’s interpretation of Jeremiah’s seventy years is another key to understanding the work. Here we do not have the distance between text (seventy years) and interpretation (a longer period of time), as found in Dan 9 but a simple substitution of the seventy-year period of Babylon with a ten-jubilee period of fulfilment of one’s sins. The completion of ten jubilees of years is identified with the period of fulfilment of the Israelites’ iniquity (respectively ‫ שלם‬Hiphil and Piel and ‫)שלמות‬. Yet, this ten-jubilee period is only one of the periodizations occurring in the Jeremiah Apocalypse, which repeatedly references numbers of years, the completion of days, generations, and perhaps even the division of periods (4Q385a 11 i). While in Dan 9–12 the seventy-year motif is interpreted as a cipher, in this Jeremiah Apocalypse it is reinterpreted and elaborated as a major theme of the tradition. 5

Jeremianic Corpus

Within the Jeremiah Apocalypse and the Jeremianic Collection there are connections with the book of Jeremiah, but there are also many close relations to 24  4Q387 1 + 2 i; 2 ii; 2 iii + 3 supplemented with text from other manuscripts. 25  4Q387 1 8 ‫“ והארץ ]רצתה את שבתותיה בהשמה‬and the land] paid off its Sabbaths by being desolate.” 4Q387 2 ii 2–4 “I will not respond to their inquiry because of the trespass [wh]ich [they] have trespassed against [me,] until the completion of ten jubilees of years.”

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the text of Jubilees, especially to those sections that sometimes are regarded as expansions, such as chs. 1, 6, and 23. This applies to a series of lines in 4Q387 1 which correspond closely to Jub. 1:10–12, having in common “abandoning my statutes . . . the festivals of my covenant” . . . “profaned” . . . “sacrificed to the goat-demons”26 . . . “violated everything deliberately.” Especially important is the common motif of forgetting the festivals. Other phrases can be connected to Jub. 23. For example, 4Q387 2 ii 10–11 “And the children of Israel will cry out because of the heavy yoke in the lands of their captivity—and there will be none to deliver them” is very similar to Jub. 23:24: “they will cry out and pray to be rescued from the power of the sinful nations, but there will be none to deliver them”. The most striking correspondence is the shared statement that “one will fight with one another regarding the law and the covenant” (4Q387 3 8 and Jub. 23:19). To this one can add that the Jeremiah Apocalypse (4Q387 2 iii 4) refers to the angels of enmity, the ‫מלאכי המשטמות‬, reminding one of the ‫ שר המשטמה‬of Jubilees. Given such connections, we may also reimagine the character of 4Q384, a collection of small papyrus fragments. Because of the phrase ‫אל תחפנ[ס‬, the manuscript has been associated with Jeremiah, and called Apocryphon of Jeremiah B. The other small fragments have no obvious connection to either Jeremiah or Egypt, but mention, in 9 2, the ‫מחלקות העתים‬, “periods of time,” as well as “transgressions” (in 9 3). There is no overlap with the Jeremianic Collection, and the material characteristics (papyrus and a low text density) probably rule out that it was part of a full copy of the Collection. Nonetheless, I propose that the few remains may suggest a comparable Jeremianic text describing different time periods. Also, we may recognize or construe a socalled Jeremianic corpus, consisting of multiple works and traditions that have multiple shared features, in this case a literary connection with both the figure of Jeremiah and the worldview and language of Jubilees, or, more specifically, the final edition of Jubilees. More problematic is 4Q390, which Dimant argues is another copy of the Apocryphon of Jeremiah C because of several unique shared phrases and because of its genre and content. As mentioned above, most scholars have contested her identification. Some qualify it as a Moses apocryphon, Qimron calls it a Jubilean eschatology, and it has been characterized both as a rewriting of Jubilees and as a variant literary edition of the Jeremiah Apocalypse.27 It 26  The often verbatim correspondence also suggests that 4Q387’s ‫ שעירים‬may have been the Hebrew word in Jub 1:11, which was then rendered in Ethiopic Jubilees as demons. 27  Rewriting: Todd R. Hanneken, “Status and Interpretation of Jubilees in 4Q390,” in A Teacher For All Generations: Essays in Honor of James C. VanderKam (ed. E. F. Mason; SJSJ

Jeremiah ’ s Scriptures in the Dead Sea Scrolls

299

also shares unique collocations with the Damascus Document 8 such as ‫התגבר‬ ‫( להון ולבצע‬CD 8:7 and 19:19; 4Q390 2 i 8) and ‫( להסגירם לחרב‬CD 1 17; 4Q390 2 i 4). God’s word to the addressee in 4Q390 1 3 “my ways which I command you (sg.) so that you may warn them” would be fitting both for Moses and for Jeremiah. However, the phrase “like everything that Israel did (‫ )עשו‬in the first days of its kingdom,” displays a perspective after these initial days of the kingdom and therefore probably would fit better with a Jeremianic text then with a Mosaic one. Given the fragmentary nature of the texts, it is difficult to assess which other fragments or works may have been related to the book or figure of Jeremiah.28 The most interesting is 4Q470 (Text Mentioning Zedekiah), frg. 1 which describes what probably is the renewal of the covenant between God and Israel in a fragment which features the angel Michael and King Zedekiah. This suggests an interpretive association of Jer 23:5–6 with the name ‫ יהוה צדקנו‬together with Jeremiah’s announcement of a new covenant (31:31–34). The preserved text only features the word “covenant” and not “new,” but the Jeremianic concept of a new covenant or covenant renewal is one of the continuing and expanding features in later traditions. 6

The Growth of Jeremianic Traditions

Some of the elements of Jeremianic tradition are (within the scrolls) restricted to the Jeremianic Corpus. This indicates the transformation of the figure of Jeremiah, who is not found in other texts. A much broader expansion is found for Jeremiah’s “seventy years,” taken up in the book of Daniel as seventy weeks, but in the Jeremiah Apocalypse as ten jubilees, thus connecting the weeks to the Jubilean periodization of history. The Jubilean periodization of all epochs of history and the underlying concept of “periods of time” are not Jeremianic, but the different kinds of periodization have merged in several texts. Another Jeremianic tradition expanding beyond the Jeremianic corpus is that of the idea of the new covenant of Jer 31:31–34, which turns up in different 153; Leiden: Brill, 2012), 407–28; as a variant literary edition in Kipp Davis’ original Ph.D. thesis “Re-Presentation and Emerging Authority of the Jeremiah Traditions in Second Temple Judaism” (Ph.D. thesis, University of Manchester, 2009). Note, however, that Davis has modified this view in his Cave 4 Apocryphon. 28  Possible candidates would be 4Q463 (Narrative D) and 6Q12 (Apocryphal Prophecy). These texts both use language describing the exile and refer to jubilee.

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forms in the Dead Sea Scrolls corpus. Within the corpus, the focus on the combination of a renewed covenant and torah is found explicitly in 4Q470 only. In the Dead Sea Scrolls, the terminology of a new covenant is attested in a few other texts (such as the Damascus Document, Rule of Blessings, and the Festival prayers). However, the idea of a new covenant has been transmitted indirectly through the transformations of Ezek 36 and especially Ps 51, with an emphasis on the creation of a new spirit and a right inclination which allows one to observe the commandments, a notion that is also found prominently in Moses’ prayer in Jub. 1 but not preserved in the fragmentary Jeremianic corpus. This Jeremianic corpus, with the figure of Jeremiah mirroring that of Moses, and with its verbal and conceptual correspondences with Jubilees, invites us to consider the relationship between second-century bce Jeremianic and Mosaic discourses.29 One might approach this question by asking from which perspective 4Q390 would be either a Mosaic or a Jeremianic text, or by comparing Jub. 23 with the Jeremiah Apocalypse. One possible difference could be the Jeremianic Collection’s political concern with royal and priestly leadership and with the relationship to specific foreign nations, as opposed to Jubilees’ attention to internal relationships between Israelites as different from the nations. This difference, then, might also be reflected in the different emphases on either new covenant in Jeremianic texts or new spirit in Jubilees. 7

Jeremiah’s Scriptures and the Dead Sea Scrolls

For biblical scholars the possibility of two simultaneously copied and read variant literary versions of Jeremiah has been very exciting, but it has often also been the end of concern with the Jeremianic tradition. Scrolls scholars have remarked on the small number of copies in the collection, the absence of pesher commentaries on Jeremiah, and the limited number of quotations.30 29  For the terminology and conceptualization of Mosaic (and other) discourses in Early Judaism, cf. Hindy Najman, Seconding Sinai: The Development of Mosaic Discourse in Second Temple Judaism (SJSJ 77; Leiden: Brill, 2003). 30  On the quotations of and allusions to Jeremiah, see several articles by Armin Lange, namely “The Text of Jeremiah in the War Scroll from Qumran,” in The Hebrew Bible in Light of the Dead Sea Scrolls (ed. Nora Dávid et al.; FRLANT 239; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2012), 95–116; idem, “The Textual History of the Book of Jeremiah in Light of its Allusions and Implicit Quotations in the Qumran Hodayot,” in Prayer and Poetry in the Dead Sea Scrolls and Related Literature: Essays in Honor of Eileen Schuller on the Occasion of Her 65th Birthday (ed. Jeremy Penner, Ken M. Penner, and Cecilia Wassen; STDJ 98; Leiden: Brill, 2012), 251–84; idem, “The Covenant with the Levites (Jer. 33:21) in the

301

Jeremiah ’ s Scriptures in the Dead Sea Scrolls

Jeremiah’s main importance would be the idea of the seventy years (and more broadly the periodization of history), the notion of the renewal of the covenant, and occasional other uses. For us, the question is how Jeremiah was interpreted and how it shaped meaning or inspired generations of tradents of the text. One possible reading is indicated by the Jeremianic fragments, where Jeremiah the prophet of judgment and hope also becomes the leader and teacher of Torah. From that perspective the book of Jeremiah becomes another witness to the Torah.

Appendix 1: Judean Desert Manuscripts and Fragments of the Book of Jeremiah

According to the official publications, there are six Jeremiah manuscripts from the caves at Qumran. Specifics can be found in the official DJD editions, in volume 3 (2Q13 published by Maurice Baillet) and volume 15 (five Cave 4 Jeremiah manuscripts published by Emanuel Tov). There are multiple discussions of these manuscripts. Cf., e.g., Armin Lange, Handbuch der Textfunde vom Toten Meer: Band 1: Die Handschriften biblischer Bücher von Qumran und den anderen Fundorten (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2009), 297–324, including a brief survey of the history of research, and extensive bibliography. In the table below, some basic data are presented (the qualification “semimasoretic” is Lange’s):

Siglum

Name

Contents

2Q13 4Q70 4Q71

2QJer 4QJera 4QJerb

parts of Jer 42–48 semi-masoretic parts of Jer 7–22 proto-masoretic 1 frag.: Jer 9:22–10:21 Vorlage LXX-like

4Q72 4QJerc 4Q72a 4QJerd 4Q72b 4QJere

parts of Jer 4–33 1 frag.: Jer 43:2–10 1 frag.: Jer 50:4–6

Textual character

semi-masoretic in part LXX-like like MT

Paleographic date

first half 1st c. ce “225–175 BCE” (Cross) “first half 2nd c. BCE” (Tov); “Hasmonean” (Puech) late first c. bce as 4Q71 Hasmonean

Proto-Masoretic Text of Jeremiah in Light of the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in ‘Go Out and Study the Land’ ( Judges 18:2): Archaeological, Historical and Textual Studies in Honor of Hanan Eshel (ed. Aren M. Maeir, Jodi Magness, and Lawrence H. Schiffman; SJSJ 148; Leiden: Brill, 2012), 95–116.

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In addition to these Qumran Jeremiah manuscripts, there are at least four other Jeremiah fragments in private hands. It is very unlikely they are from Qumran, and some may be modern forgeries.

Collection Siglum

Schøyen Green FJCO ? (USA)

Name

Contents

DSS F.116 DSS F.Jer1 Jer 3:14–19

Textual character

Palaeographic date

Vorlage LXX-like

middle/late Hasmonean DSS F.195 DSS F.Jer2 Jer 23:6–9 unknown to me not seen DSS F.156 DSS F.Jer3 Jer 48:29–31 too small (3 words) 2nd half 1st c. bce Jer 24:6–7 too small (4 words) not seen

The Schøyen fragment will be published by Torleif Elgvin and Kipp Davis in the fall of 2015. The tiny Princeton Dead Sea Scrolls Project-Foundation on Judaism and Christian Origins (FJCO) fragment, which previously was part of the Ink and Blood collection, is depicted on the internet (http://www.inkandblood.com/the-collection/item-detail. php?PRKey=4) and will be published together with the Azusa Pacific University collection of fragments. The Jer 24:6–7 fragment has been described by Esther and Hanan Eshel, in Meghillot 5–6 (2007): 275–76. They suggest it may be part of 4Q72. I have no further details about the Green Collection fragment.



Appendix 2: The Mixed Textual Character of 4QJerd

4Q72a (part) ‫ו]לא ש[מע ]יחנן[ וכל ]שרי‬4 ‫ ]אתנו ב[בל‬

2 ‫הח[יל]ם וכל‬ ‫ויק[ח י]חנן[ וכל ש]רי ה[ח]ילם את כל שארית‬5] ‫ [העם בקול יהוה לשבת בארץ יהודה‬3 ‫את הגברים[ ו]את הנש[י]ם ואת הטף ואת‬6 ‫ [יהודה ]◦ [ ]◦ם‬4 ‫בנות‬ ‫ [המלך ואת כל הנפש אשר הני]ח נבוזרדן את גדליה בן אחיקם ואת ירמיהו הנביא‬5 ‫ויבאו א]רץ מצרים כי לא שמעו בקול יהוה[ ו]יבאו תחפחס‬7 ‫ [ואת ברוך בן נריה‬ 6 ‫קח בידך אבנים גדלות וטמנתם‬9 ‫ויהי דבר יהוה אל ירמיהו] בתחפנחס לאמר‬8[ 7 vacat ‫] אשר בפתח בתחפנחס לעיני אנשים יהודים‬ [ 8

Jeremiah ’ s Scriptures in the Dead Sea Scrolls

303

43:4 (2) ‫ יחנן‬LXX 】+ ‫ קרח בן‬M 43:5 (3) ‫ י]חנן‬LXX 】+ ‫ קרח בן‬M 43:6 (5) ‫ נבוזרדן‬LXX 】+ ‫ רב טבחים‬M 43:6 (5) ‫ אחיקם‬LXX 】+ ‫ בן שפן‬M 43:6 (5) [‫ ]כל‬M 】> LXX* 43:7 (6) ‫ א]רץ‬M 】> LXX* 43:9 (7) ‫ בידך‬M 】σεαυτῷ LXX* 43:9 (8) ‫ אנשים יהודים‬M 】ἀνδρῶν Ιουδα LXX (= ‫)?אנשי יהודה‬ 43:5 (4) ‫]◦[ ] ◦ם‬. . . ‫ יהודה‬‎ 】‫ אשר שבו מכל הגוים נדחו שם לגור בארץ יהודה‬‎ M; Ιουδα τοὺς ἀποστρέψαντας κατοικεῖν ἐν τῇ γῇ LXX; the DJD reading [‫יהודה‬ ‫]שם‬ ֯ ‫אש]ר [נדצו‬ ֯ ‫ אשר שבו מכל הגוים‬is not possible given available space between purported ‫ ֯ר‬and ‫שם‬. ֯ Janzen reconstructed ‫באר]ץ [מצר]י֯ ם‬ ֯ ‫לגור‬. 43:7 (6) ‫】 ו]יבאו‬+‎ ‫ עד‬M, LXX 43:9 (8) ‫】אשר בתחפנחס‬‎ ‫ אשר בפתח בית פרעה בתחפנחס‬M, LXX



Appendix 3: Apocryphon of Jeremiah C Texts Mentioning Jeremiah

3.1 4Q385a 18 i

vacat ] [ ‫ויצא ]ירמיה הנביא מלפני יהוה‬ [ ‫ [וילך עם ה]שבאים אשר נשבו מארץ ירושלים ויבאו‬ ‫ [לרבלה? אל ]מלך בבל ֯בהכות נבוזרדן רב הטבחים‬ ‫אל]הים ויקח את כלי בית אלהים את הכהנים‬ ֯ ‫ [בעם‬ ‫ [החרים? ]ובני ישראל ויביאם בבל וילך ירמיה הנביא‬ ]‫ [עמהם עד ]הנהר ויצום את אשר יעשו בארץ שביא[ם‬ ‫ [וישמעו] בקול ירמיה לדברים אשר צוהו אלהים‬ ‫ [ ]וֿ שמרו את ברית אלהי אבותיהם בארץ‬ ‫]כאשר עשו הם ומלכיהם כהניהם‬ ‫ [בבל‬ ]?‫ [וי]חלל[ו ש]ם אלהים ל[טמא‬. . . ] ?‫ [ושריהם‬

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11

1[. . .] Blank 2[. . .] Jeremiah the prophet [went out] from before YHWH 3[and he went with the] captives who were led captive from the land of Jerusalem, and they came 4[at Riblah, to] the king of Babylon. When Nebuzaradan the captain of the guard had struck 5[the nation of G]od, he took the vessels of the house of God, the priests, 6[the nobles,] and the Israelites, and he brought them to Babel. And the prophet Jeremiah went 7[with them up to] the river, and commanded them what they should do in the land of [their] captivity. 8[And they obe]yed Jeremiah with respect to the things that God had commanded him 9[. . .] keeping the covenant of the God of their fathers in the

304

Tigchelaar

land 10[of Babylon, . . .] what they had done, they, and their kings, their priests 11[and their princes?] . . . [and they] profan[ed the na]me of God, by [defiling]

3.2 4Q385a 18 ii

?‫בתחפנס א[שר בארץ מצרים‬ ] [‫ויאמרו לו דרוש[ נא בעדנו לאל]הים‬ ]‫להם ירמי[ה ל]בלתי דרוש להם לאלה[ים ושאת בעדם‬ ]?‫קינות‬ [. ‫רנה ותפלה ויהי ירמיה מקונן‬ ]‫ [ ויהי דבר יהוה אל‬vacat ‫על ירושלים‬ ]‫ירמיה בארץ תחפנס אשר בארץ מצ[רים לאמר דבר אל‬ ] [‫בני ישראל ואל בני יהודה ובנימים כ‬ ] ‫יום יום דרשו את חקותי ואת מצותי שמ[רו‬ ]‫אחרי פ[ס]ילי הגוים אשר הל[כו אחריהם אבותיכם כי‬ [. ‫] לא‬. . . . . . . .‫לא יושי[עו ]ל[כם ו‬

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

1in Tahpanes, wh[ich is in the land of Egypt . . .] 2and they said to him: [“Please] inquire [of G]od [on our behalf” . . .] 3Jeremi[ah] to them, that he would not inquire for them of Go[d, or offer on their behalf] 4supplication and prayer. And Jeremiah was lamenting ov[er . . . laments?] 5[ov]er Jerusalem. Blank [And the word of YHWH came to] 6Jeremiah in the land of Tahpanes, which is in the land of Egy[pt . . . to] 7the Israelites and to the Judahites and Benjaminites [. . .] 8“Seek daily my ordinances, and ke[ep] my commandments [not going] 9after the idols of the peoples [after] which we[nt your fathers, for] 10[t]he[y] will not save [. . .] not [. . .]



3.3 4Q389 1

[ ֯‫ [ ]ה בארץ י‬ [‫ [ ]ובקשו על כ‬ ‫ [ ] ֯כל הנשאר בארץ מצ[רים‬ ‫י]רמיה בן חלקיה מארץ מצר[ים‬ [ [ ‫ראו הדרבים‬ ֯ ‫ו] ֯ק‬/‫ [שלו]שים ושש שנה לגלות ישראל [נ‬ [‫במעמד ה‬ ‫י]שראל על נהר סור‬ [‫ׄב‬

2 3 4 5 6 7

2[. . .] in the land of J/I[. . .] 3[. . .] and they pleaded for [. . .] 4[. . .] all who remained in the land of E[gypt . . .] 5[. . . Je]remiah son of Helkiah from the land of Egyp[t . . .] 6[thi]rty-sixth year of the captivity of Israel they read the words [. . .] 7in [. . . I]srael at the River Sour Blank while were standing [. . .]

Jeremiah ’ s Scriptures in the Dead Sea Scrolls



305

Appendix 4: Nahum 3:8–10 in Different Forms31

4Q385a 17 ii 4–9 DJD

Nah 3:8–10 MT

Nah 3:8–10 LXX Göttingen

‫חלקך היכן‬

‫יט ִבי ִמ ּ֣נ ֹא‬ ְ ‫ֲה ֵ ֽת‬

‫אמון‬ ]‫ה[ש]כנה ביארי[ם‬ ̇

‫ָא ֔מֹון‬ ‫ַה ֹּֽי ְׁש ָב ֙ה ַּביְ א ִ ֹ֔רים‬

‫מים סביב לך‬ ‫̇ח[ילך] ים‬ ]‫ומים חמ[תך‬

‫ַ ֖מיִ ם ָס ִ ֣ביב ָלּ֑ה‬ ‫ר־חיל ָ֔ים‬ ֣ ֵ ‫ֲא ֶׁש‬ ‫חֹומ ָ ֽתּה׃‬ ָ ‫ִמ ָּי֖ם‬

]‫כוש מצרי̇ [ם עצמה‬

‫ּומ ְצ ַ ֖ריִ ם‬ ִ ‫ּ֥כּוׁש ָע ְצ ָ ֛מה‬

]‫ו]אין קץ לבריח[יך‬

‫וְ ֵ ֣אין ֵ ֑ק ֶצה‬

‫לוב בסעדך‬

‫לּובים ָהי֖ ּו ְּב ֶעזְ ָר ֵ ֽתְך׃‬ ִ֔ ְ‫ּ֣פּוט ו‬

]‫בש[בי‬ ֯ ‫והיא בגולה תלך‬

‫ם־היא ַלּג ָֹל ֙ה ָה ְל ָכ֣ה ַב ֶּׁ֔ש ִבי‬ ִ֗ ַ‫ּג‬

‫]ו֯ עלליה‬ ‫ראש[ הר]ים‬ ֯ ‫]ב‬ ̇ [ ֯‫י[רטש]ו‬

‫֛יה יְ ֻר ְּט ׁ֖שּו ְּב ֣ר ֹאׁש‬ ָ ‫ַּג֧ם ע ָֹל ֶל‬ ‫ל־חּוצֹות‬ ֑ ‫ָּכ‬

‫]גורל‬ ̇ ‫ועל [נכבדיה ידו‬

‫גֹורל‬ ֔ ָ ‫יה יַ ּ֣דּו‬ ָ֙ ‫וְ ַעל־נִ ְכ ַּב ֶ ּ֙ד‬

]‫בזק[ים‬ ֯ ‫וכל [גדול]י̇ ה‬

‫֖יה ֻר ְּת ֥קּו ַבּזִ ִ ּֽקים׃‬ ָ ‫דֹול‬ ֶ ְ‫וְ ָכל־ּג‬

4Q385a 17 ii 4–9 Tigchelaar

ἅρμοσαι χορδήν, ἑτοίμασαι μερίδα, ‫הוֿ כן חלקך‬ Αμων ‫אמון‬ ἡ κατοικοῦσα ἐν ‫ביארים‬ ̇ ‫ה[טמ?]וֿ נה‬ ποταμοῖς, ὕδωρ κύκλῳ αὐτῆς, ‫מים סביב לה‬ ἧς ἡ ἀρχὴ θάλασσα ‫̇ר[אשה ]ים‬ καὶ ὕδωρ τὰ τείχη ]‫ומים חמ[תה‬ αὐτῆς, καὶ Αἰθιοπία ἡ ἰσχὺς ]?‫כוש מעו̇ ז֯ [ה ומצרים‬ αὐτῆς καὶ Αἴγυπτος, καὶ οὐκ ἔστι πέρας ] ?[‫ו]אין קץ לברוח‬ τῆς φυγῆς, καὶ Λίβυες ἐγένοντο ‫לוב בסעדך‬ βοηθοὶ αὐτῆς. καὶ αὐτὴ εἰς ]‫בש[בי‬ ֯ ‫והיא בגולה תלך‬ μετοικεσίαν πορεύσεται αἰχμάλωτος, καὶ τὰ νήπια αὐτῆς ‫ו֯ עלליה‬ ἐδαφιοῦσιν ἐπ᾿ ἀρχὰς ‫[ברא]ש שק[ים‬ ̇ ֯‫י[רטש]ו‬ πασῶν τῶν ὁδῶν αὐτῆς, καὶ ἐπὶ πάντα τὰ ‫]גורל‬ ̇ ‫ועל [נכבדיה ידו‬ ἔνδοξα αὐτῆς βαλοῦσι κλήρους, καὶ πάντες οἱ ]‫בזק[ים‬ ֯ ‫וכל [גדול]י̇ ה‬ μεγιστᾶνες αὐτῆς δεθήσονται χειροπέδαις.

31  My forthcoming “Thrice Nahum 3:8–10: MT, LXX, and 4Q385a 17 ii—New Proposals,” written after this article, presents slightly improved readings and reconstructions.

306

Tigchelaar

Translation of Tigchelaar

Your portion has been prepared, O Amon, who is hidden(?) by the Niles. Waters are around her, her head is the sea, and waters her wall. Cush is her strength, and Egypt (?), and there is no end to flight. Libya is your help, but she will go in exile, into captivity. Her babies shall be dashed at the head of streets, and for her honoured ones lots will be cast and all her great ones in chains

Chapter 27

Modelling Jeremiah Traditions in the Light of the Dead Sea Scrolls. A Response to Eibert Tigchelaar George J. Brooke The basilica of Santa Maria della Salute in Venice was built in the 17th century to acknowledge the assistance of the Virgin Mary in delivering Venice from the plague that attacked especially virulently in 1630. The church is constructed in an octagonal form representing the eight points of the Virgin’s stellar crown and so has eight pillars inside holding up the coronal dome. Notable for our purposes are the larger than life statues on top of each column. They are in clockwise order from the door: Jeremiah, Simeon, Daniel, Isaiah, David, Ezekiel, Baruch, and Hosea. We may speculate about how each figure addresses a concern with the Virgin, but as a group they speak to the variegated prophetic voice that supports the ups and downs of divine deliverance. Three of the eight indicate something of the strength or dominance of Jeremianic discourse: Jeremiah himself, Baruch his scribe, and Daniel who cites him.1 It is the range of Jeremianic materials in the Second Temple period that I wish to take up in a general manner in this response. Eibert Tigchelaar has provided us with some astute observations on a wide range of topics. Let me sum them up very briefly. First, he has pointed to the variety of textual forms of the book of Jeremiah,2 a variety that seems to be 1  David could even take his place in relation to Jeremiah: Jeremiah hopes for the restored throne of David and the branch of David (Jer 22:4; 23:5; 33:15). Tigchelaar also notes the transformation of the new covenant idea in Ezek 36; whereas the differences between Jeremiah and Ezekiel are commonly pointed out, on the similarities between them see, e.g., Lawrence Boadt, “Do Jeremiah and Ezekiel Share a Common View of the Exile?” in Uprooting and Planting: Essays on Jeremiah for Leslie Allen (ed. John Goldingay; LHBOTS 459; London: T&T Clark International, 2007), 14–31. 2  Amongst earlier studies of this phenomenon that give prominence to the evidence of the scrolls found in the Qumran caves, pride of place has to be given in the 1970s to J. Gerald Janzen, Studies in the Text of Jeremiah (HSM 6; Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1973) and in the 1980s to Emanuel Tov, “Some Aspects of the Textual and Literary History of the Book of Jeremiah,” in Le livre de Jérémie: le prophète et son milieu, les oracles et leur transmission (ed. Pierre-Maurice Bogaert; BETL 54; Leuven: Peeters, 1981), 145–67; idem, “The Literary History of the Book of Jeremiah in the Light of its Textual History,” in Empirical Models for

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���7 | doi ��.��63/9789004320253_028

308

Brooke

more than simply an earlier short form and a later longer form,3 a variety that has not yet been fully described and evaluated.4 Second, he has described some of the problems facing those who try to sort out the many fragments from Cave 4 dealing with Jeremiah, what he calls the “Jeremianic collection”: his take on those is to discern an historical apocalypse, an associated set of narrative traditions involving Jeremiah not known from the scriptural books of Jeremiah and which in some respects run counter to the descriptions in Jer 39–44 and 51 (MT) but which confirm his role as a figure like Moses and his reputation as a man of lament, and some other matters. Third, he has noted other textual and intertextual items: within the Jeremianic collection a septuagintal form of Nah 3:8–10, within the expansions of the book of Jubilees (chapters 1, 6, and 23) distinctive lexical collocations that echo 4Q387 1, and in other texts, such as the Damascus Document, yet further Jeremianic terminology. Fourth, there are yet further manuscript fragments in search of proper identification, notably papyrus 4Q384, the distinctive 4Q390, and 4Q470 (the Text Mentioning Zedekiah); each seems to have Jeremianic affiliation of some kind. Nearly twenty years ago I wrote a description of what might have been recognized at that point as the book of Jeremiah and its early reception Biblical Criticism (ed. Jeffrey H. Tigay; Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1985), 211–37. 3  Emanuel Tov, “Searching for the ‘Original Bible’: Do the Dead Sea Scrolls Help?” BAR 40/4 (2014): 48–53, 68; here 52, has recently affirmed his view, not shared by all, that the shorter form of Jeremiah was earlier than the longer form: “[I]t is often argued that the shorter text from the Septuagint and the Dead Sea Scrolls reflect the original form and that the Masoretic Text reflects a later tradition in which [for Jer 10:3–10] the praise of the Lord has been added in contrast to the futility of idols. Indeed, in the development of Scripture, usually elements were added, not deleted. Moreover it is intrinsically more plausible that verses of praise were added than omitted.” 4  Most commentaries on Jeremiah make some attempt at describing the evidence but are actually entirely restricted, often by the nature of the series in which they appear, to commenting on the MT form of Jeremiah. In English, see, e.g., Robert P. Carroll, Jeremiah: A Commentary (OTL; London: SCM Press, 1986), 50–55; Peter C. Craigie, Page H. Kelley, and Joel F. Drinkard, Jeremiah 1–25 (WBC 26; Dallas: Word, 1991), xli–xlv; Louis Stulman, Jeremiah (Abingdon Old Testament Commentaries; Nashville: Abingdon, 2005), 7–9. Something of an exception is William L. Holladay, Jeremiah 2 (Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1989), 2–24, which juxtaposes a section on “The Text of the Book of Jeremiah” with one on “Analysis of the Literary Development of the Book of Jeremiah,” though it is the Hebrew text that dominates in the discussion together with the figure of Jeremiah himself; nevertheless, at least he prefaces the comments on the Oracles against Foreign Nations with a brief essay on the various oracles (ibid., 312–14) in which he states a preference for the originality of the placement of the collection in the LXX but for the order of the oracles as in MT.

A Response to Eibert Tigchelaar

309

history, both in pre-sectarian and sectarian compositions of the Second Temple period.5 As well as offering a survey of Jeremiah materials, I concluded by suggesting that it was possible that Jeremiah traditions were more to the forefront of nascent sectarian discourse in the second century bce than in the later first century bce sectarian texts. I wondered whether that might have been because of Jeremiah’s particular status as a prophet addressing in part a community in its early experience of the desolation of the temple and of exile, though I also noted that at the same time Jeremiah did not seem to have been a significant model for the composer of some of the Hodayot, sometimes identified as the Teacher of Righteousness.6 Since that survey, many others have grappled with the Jeremiah traditions found in the Qumran caves, amongst them Monica Brady, Devorah Dimant, Bennie Reynolds, Kipp Davies, Eibert Tigchelaar, Elisha Qimron, and Balázs Tamási.7 And others, too many to list 5  George J. Brooke, “The Book of Jeremiah and its Reception in the Qumran Scrolls,” in The Book of Jeremiah and Its Reception/Le livre de Jérémie et sa réception (ed. Adrian H. W. Curtis and Thomas Römer; BETL 128; Leuven: Peeters/University Press, 1997), 183–205. 6  I think that I was probably incorrect about that. A significant role for Jeremiah traditions in the self-understanding of the author of the Hodayot has been argued for by Julie A. Hughes, Scriptural Allusions and Exegesis in the Hodayot (STDJ 59; Leiden: Brill, 2006). 7  Monica Brady, “Prophetic Traditions at Qumran: A Study of 4Q383–391” (Ph.D. diss., University of Notre Dame, 2000); Devorah Dimant, Qumran Cave 4.XXI: Parabiblical Texts, Part 4: Pseudo-Prophetic Texts (DJD 30; Oxford: Clarendon, 2001); eadem, “Pseudo-Ezekiel and the Apocryphon of Jeremiah C in Perspective,” RevQ 25 (2011): 17–39; repr. in eadem, History, Ideology and Bible Interpretation in the Dead Sea Scrolls (FAT 90; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2014), 423–40; eadem, “From the Book of Jeremiah to the Qumran Apocryphon of Jeremiah,” DSD 20 (2013): 452–71; Bennie H. Reynolds III, “Adjusting the Apocalypse: How the Apocryphon of Jeremiah C Updates the Book of Daniel,” in The Dead Sea Scrolls in Context: Integrating the Dead Sea Scrolls in the Study of Ancient Texts, Languages and Cultures (ed. Armin Lange et al.; VTSup 140; Leiden: Brill, 2011), 1.279–94; Kipp Davis, “Torah-Performance and History in the Golah: Rewritten Bible or ‘Re-presentational’ Authority in the Apocryphon of Jeremiah C,” in Celebrating the Dead Sea Scrolls: A Canadian Collection (ed. Peter W. Flint, Jean Duhaime and Kyung S. Baek; SBLEJL 30; Atlanta: SBL, 2011), 467–95; idem, “Prophets of Exile: 4QApocryphon of Jeremiah C, Apocryphal Baruch, and the Efficacy of the Second Temple,” JSJ 44 (2013): 497–529; idem, “4Q481d Frg. 3: A New Fragment of 4QApocryphon of Jeremiah Cb (4Q387),” Semitica 56 (2014): 213–30; idem, The Cave 4 Apocryphon of Jeremiah and the Qumran Jeremianic Traditions (STDJ 111; Leiden: Brill, 2014); Eibert J. C. Tigchelaar, “Classification of the Collection of Dead Sea Scrolls and the Case of Apocryphon of Jeremiah,” JSJ 43 (2012): 519–50; Elisha Qimron, “dbry yrmyhw (4Q385a–389; Apocryphon of Jeremiah),” in The Dead Sea Scrolls: The Hebrew Writings (Jerusalem: Yad Ben-Zvi Press, 2013 [Heb.]), 2.94–103; Balázs Tamási, “Apocryphon of Jeremiah C from Qumran: Rewritten Prophetic Text or Something Else?” in Rewritten Bible after Fifty Years: Texts, Terms, or Techniques? A Last Dialogue with Geza Vermes (ed. József Zsengellér; JSJSup 166; Leiden: Brill, 2014), 203–19.

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here, have grappled with developing Jeremianic traditions,8 not least as associated with Baruch and as represented in the so-called Epistle of Jeremiah,9 which also seems to put in an appearance in a Qumran cave. Although there is still some struggling to be done with the suitable identification and placement of several fragments from the Qumran caves, a key question emerges from all this material; it is hinted at only tangentially in Eibert Tigchelaar’s paper. The question concerns how scholars might set about trying to model what is taking place with all these textual traditions. Four options come readily to mind and can be mentioned briefly; in my opinion none of them will be adequate to the whole task, though they all need to be deployed. They are not necessarily mutually exclusive. A first option is a model that takes seriously the way the manuscript evidence from the Qumran caves indicates that there must have been stages in the literary development of the book of Jeremiah, but in the light of all the other Second Temple period evidence that has to be associated with Jeremiah, it does not restrict the development of Jeremiah to the Hebrew and Greek witnesses to the book of Jeremiah alone. In addition this model for understanding the literary development of Jeremiah could pay particular attention to how the text of Jeremiah talks about itself, its renewal and renovation. Jeremiah 36 (MT) is fundamental to such discussion.10 This approach gives some priority to literary activity, to scribes and schools, and to the ways they negotiate orality and the oracular, character construction and textual ordering and reordering. This, then, is a model that seeks to juxtapose manuscript evidence for the various forms of the book of Jeremiah with an appreciation of the vagaries of 8  E.g., on the significance of Jeremiah 29 for the promotion of Jeremianic epistolography in the light of 4Q389 see Lutz Doering, Ancient Jewish Letters and the Beginnings of Christian Epistolography (WUNT 298; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2012), 104–108. 9  See on Baruch, e.g., Leo G. Perdue, “Baruch among the Sages,” and Pamela J. Scalise, “Baruch as First Reader: Baruch’s Lament in the Structure of the Book of Jeremiah,” both in Uprooting and Planting: Essays on Jeremiah for Leslie Allen, 260–90 and 291–307 respectively. On the Epistle of Jeremiah see, e.g., George J. Brooke, “The Structure of the Poem against Idolatry in the Epistle of Jeremiah (1 Baruch 6),” in Poussières de christianisme et de judaïsme antiques: Études réunies en l’honneur de Jean-Daniel Kaestli et Éric Junod (ed. Albert Frey and Rémi Gounelle; Publications de l’institut romand des sciences bibliques 5; Prahins: Éditions du Zèbre, 2007), 107–28. 10  See, e.g., Yvonne Sherwood and Mark Brummitt, “The Fear of Loss Inherent in Writing: Jeremiah 36 as the Story of a Self-Conscious Scroll,” in Yvonne Sherwood, Biblical Blaspheming: Trials of the Sacred for a Secular Age (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012), 252–74; Hindy Najman, Losing the Temple and Recovering the Future: An Analysis of 4 Ezra (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2014), 28–29.

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textuality in the Second Temple period and the place of changing prophetic traditions within them. The second possibility, which might simply be a part of the first option but which deserves explicit mention, is to adopt and adapt somehow what scholars of the Hebrew Bible have been discussing concerning the likely or unlikely interaction of Jeremiah traditions with the transmission of Deuteronomy and the larger Deuteronomistic collection. From such a perspective, permission is given for many kinds of editorial activity to be discerned and identified.11 Something of such processes is clearly at stake at various stages and can be caught in the catchy phrase “redaction as inner-biblical reception,”12 but the diversity of the Jeremianic material seems too great to be restricted to processes of redaction alone. However, attention to the Deuteronomic trajectory of Jeremiah can be used to explain certain features of the book(s) of Jeremiah as well as various developments of those books in several other traditions as are now discernible in the Jeremianic materials from Qumran. This is a model of literary development along a single ideological line, but a single line that was variously taken up in several places. The third closely related option is to promote a refreshed version of innerscriptural interpretation as a hallmark of some of those kinds of processes that seem to be apparent in the literary renewal of traditions from one generation to another.13 Within such ongoing interpretative literary creativity, external traditions can play as important a part as internal ones, in fact often more important parts. From such a perspective, the integration of one tradition of Nahum within Jeremianic material is entirely the kind of thing that needs to be looked for and expected. This model draws attention to the variety of Jeremianic materials by considering them as internal developments of sections of Jeremiah rather than as a sequence of secondary literary works. This is a model of literary development that incorporates a wider frame of intertextual reference.

11  See the review of research on this in Christl Maier, Jeremia als Lehrer der Tora: Soziale Gebote des Deuteronomiums in Fortschreibungen des Jeremiabuches (FRLANT 196; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2002), 11–47. 12  As in Konrad Schmid, The Old Testament: A Literary History (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2012), 46. 13  This is to identify what might be taking place with the insights set in motion by Michael Fishbane, Biblical Interpretation in Ancient Israel (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1985); much has been suggested since: see notably Benjamin Sommer, A Prophet Reads Scripture: Allusion in Isaiah 40–66 (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1998).

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The fourth related option is to move within the context of textual variety, as some scholars have already done, from attention to some supposed earlier or original form of the text to attention to the constructed voice of the text, to move from the written Jeremiah, an actual prophet, to the ideological figure of Jeremiah.14 What emerges is a pluriform set of Jeremiah discourses to be set alongside those to be assigned to Moses, Ezra, and David in Second Temple Judaism.15 In this approach it becomes important not to privilege one form of discourse over another but to let them stand in juxtaposition with one another so that it can be appreciated that it is possible that some aspects of the Hebrew text now preserved in the MT are actually later than some parts of the so-called Apocrypha of Jeremiah now known from the Qumran caves. The significance of those four models can be put in slightly different terms. Alongside and beyond those four approaches for constructing a framework for handling the rich diversity of Second Temple period Jeremianic traditions, I am concerned to highlight two matters. The first concerns what is present in my own survey of nearly twenty years ago and also in Eibert Tigchelaar’s contribution to this volume. Scholars have this habit of laying out what is understood as scriptural or “biblical” before moving on to other texts and traditions. Almost without question the scriptural material is privileged. But the diversity of which the so-called scriptural manuscripts attest is to be recognized not necessarily as being in a prior position and therefore taking priority, but also as present throughout the Second Temple period alongside other developing Jeremiah traditions that did not happen to become canonical for either Jews or Christians. It is worth asking, for example, when the Greek translation of Jeremiah was made and what does that imply about the ongoing life of an alternative (probably earlier) form of Hebrew Jeremiah? Scholars of the scriptural manuscripts found in the eleven caves at and near Qumran know all about textual pluralism; that knowledge needs to be seen as a reality both through the Second Temple period and across different Jewish communities 14   See notably Mark Leuchter, “Remembering Jeremiah in the Persian Period,” in Remembering Biblical Figures in the Late Persian and Early Hellenistic Periods: Social Memory and Imagination (ed. Diana V. Edelman and Ehud Ben Zvi; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013), 384–414. The work of Kipp Davis has moved in this direction too: see n. 7 above. 15  See, notably, the work of Hindy Najman, Seconding Sinai: The Development of Mosaic Discourse in Second Temple Judaism (JSJSup 77; Leiden: Brill, 2003); eadem, Losing the Temple; also, on David, Eva Mroczek, “Moses, David, and Scribal Revelation: Preservation and Renewal in Second Temple Jewish Textual Traditions,” in The Significance of Sinai: Traditions about Divine Revelation in Judaism and Christianity (ed. George J. Brooke, Hindy Najman, and Loren T. Stuckenbruck; TBN 12; Leiden: Brill, 2008), 91–115.

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for whom Jeremiah was significant. The textual pluralism should include all the Jeremiah traditions, not just those that are privileged because they attain a definitive authoritative position much later. We need a model that can take account both of a diachronic perspective, with earlier and later, and also with what might be a synchronic perspective, reflective of diversity in traditions at any one time.16 Who is to say that what we now have in either Hebrew or Greek scriptures was of greater significance (and for whom?) at any one time in the Second Temple period than some other form of the Jeremiah corpus? Second, it is important to recognize that not all later echoes of Jeremiah materials need be echoes of what we now have in Hebrew or Greek Bibles. Jeremiah traditions, even from the earliest stages, could have been appropriated through what are now identified by many as non-scriptural sources. I have in mind, by way of analogy, the multiple discussions that have gone on about the relationship of the Enoch traditions in Genesis to those in the Book of Watchers (1 Enoch 1–36); just what really might have been the case, even in the “earliest” stages? A fine example of this perspective is to be found in Dimant’s recent study where she has proposed that in the light of the Jeremiah traditions from the Qumran caves, a Hebrew Vorlage probably juxtaposed what is now Bar 1:1–3:8 as an appendix to the book of Jeremiah.17 So where can we go for help to avoid in particular what might be described as the privileging of canonical forms of Jeremiah in our discussions? I am aware of a similar problem in New Testament scholarship, highlighted recently by Francis Watson,18 where canonical Gospels are privileged historically because of their subsequent canonical status and as a result the full diversity of traditions in the first two centuries of the Common Era is substantially misrepresented. Likewise scholars risk misrepresenting what was taking place with the varieties of Jeremiah traditions over a longer period of time. Watson has addressed the matter from three perspectives. The first aspect is an historical dimension. For the Gospels this means setting aside any canonical standpoint and putting the formation of Jesus 16  Holladay, Jeremiah 2, 6–7, copes with the diversity of text forms of Jeremiah by proposing that the text behind the Greek was preserved in Egypt, whilst that behind the MT with its harmonizing characteristics was developed in Palestine. He acknowledges, nevertheless, that both forms are present in one place, namely the Qumran caves. 17  Dimant, “From the Book of Jeremiah to the Qumran Apocryphon of Jeremiah,” DSD 20 (2013): 452–71. 18  Francis Watson, Gospel Writing: A Canonical Perspective (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2013). I refer especially to the “Prologue” in his book (pp. 1–9), which sets out part of his overall agenda.

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traditions into a much larger context of early Christian Gospel production as a whole. In an analogous manner, in relation to the rich variety of Jeremiah traditions, it is important to put the formation of Jeremiah and Baruch traditions, together with those of Lamentations, into a much broader context of the creation, preservation, adaptation, and authorization of Jeremiah traditions.19 In such a perspective, it might become clear, for example, that one or other of the forms of the “canonical” Jeremiah actually came about because of its interaction with or against a Jeremiah tradition that was only subsequently preserved by a minority for some other reason. In other words “canonical” Jeremiah, whatever might be meant by that, is to be seen as part of the reception history of a book of Jeremiah, as much as it might well represent part of such a book’s inception in some form. Watson has labelled the second dimension as hermeneutical. By this he means that the categories of “canonical” and “apocryphal” might serve some function, but they tend to hide the dynamics of the process by which certain texts gradually take pre-eminence. For the Gospels Watson highlights the “fine dialectical balance between oneness and plurality,”20 which is also reflected in the process of inclusion-exclusion that results in texts being declared canonical. By analogy, it becomes hermeneutically suitable to look for what unites all the multiple Jeremiah traditions whilst yet encouraging diversity. There are eventually two Jeremiahs in two different Bibles rather than four Gospels in one New Testament, but it might nevertheless remain worthwhile pondering what it is amongst all the Jeremianic diversity that enables the identification of something as Jeremianic at all. In third place Watson has outlined a theological matter. Here he is concerned with how Christian readers of the Gospels struggle inappropriately to discover and then appropriate the authentic voice of Jesus, his authentic experience and lived history. I am inclined to see the analogy for our purposes, not so much in any attempt that might be made to discover the historical Jeremiah (though it is not objectionable to envisage such a person), but rather to be about acknowledging that any echoes of the divine voice present in particular oracles are not the result of any momentary prophetic experience but the outcome of intra- and inter-community struggles, now offered to us in the very

19  A partial tentative and not entirely satisfactory step in this direction is taken by Ronnie Goldstein, “Jeremiah between Destruction and Exile: From Biblical to Post-Biblical Traditions,” DSD 20 (2013): 433–51. 20  Watson, Gospel Writing, 8.

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diversity of Jeremiah traditions that survive.21 Those materials challenge the naïve conceptualization of the role of divine inspiration as part of the origin of a prophetic text. Theologically it can be reasserted that it is communities that make texts and historians of the text need to try to identify and describe those communities, not least in the Second Temple period. Is such an historical, hermeneutical, and theological approach too much to ask for? As Jeremiah himself becomes associated with exiles who have gone down into Egypt, with all its typological topicality, are we now plagued with too much material to make sense of the vivacity of the Jeremiah traditions? Material concerning Jeremiah, Baruch, and even Daniel abounds in many forms. Perhaps with the Venetians we should invoke Santa Maria della Salute to lead us through the plague to celebrate a greatly revised vision of Second Temple prophetic texts,22 a revision as profound as is taking place with the understanding of the transmission of the Torah, now that the texts preserved on manuscripts such as 4Q365 are recognized as having been authoritative in some manner. Bibliography Boadt, Lawrence. “Do Jeremiah and Ezekiel Share a Common View of the Exile?” Pp. 14–31 in Uprooting and Planting: Essays on Jeremiah for Leslie Allen. Ed. John Goldingay. LHBOTS 459; London: T&T Clark International, 2007. Brady, Monica. “Prophetic Traditions at Qumran: A Study of 4Q383–391.” Ph.D. diss., University of Notre Dame, 2000. Brooke, George J. “The Book of Jeremiah and its Reception in the Qumran Scrolls.” Pp. 183–205 in The Book of Jeremiah and Its Reception/Le livre de Jérémie et sa reception. Ed. Adrian H. W. Curtis and Thomas Römer. BETL 128; Leuven: Peeters/University Press, 1997.

21  Something of a balance between the historical Jeremiah and the communities that wrestled with his legacy can be found in the writings of Walter Brueggemann: Like Fire in the Bones: Listening for the Prophetic Word in Jeremiah (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2006); The Theology of the Book of Jeremiah (Old Testament Theology; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007). The voices of the non-scriptural Second Temple period Jeremiah traditions need to be added to his work. 22  See, e.g., Martti Nissinen, “The Historical Dilemma of Biblical Prophetic Studies,” in Prophecy in the Book of Jeremiah (ed. Hans M. Barstad and Reinhard G. Kratz; BZAW 388; Berlin: de Gruyter, 2009), 103–20.

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———. “The Structure of the Poem against Idolatry in the Epistle of Jeremiah (1 Baruch 6).” Pp. 107–28 in Poussières de christianisme et de judaïsme antiques: Études réunies en l’honneur de Jean-Daniel Kaestli et Éric Junod. Ed. Albert Frey and Rémi Gounelle. Publications de l’institut romand des sciences bibliques 5; Prahins: Éditions du Zèbre, 2007. Brueggemann, Walter. Like Fire in the Bones: Listening for the Prophetic Word in Jeremiah. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2006. ———. The Theology of the Book of Jeremiah. Old Testament Theology; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007. Carroll, Robert P. Jeremiah: A Commentary. OTL; London: SCM Press, 1986. Craigie, Peter C., Page H. Kelley and Joel F. Drinkard. Jeremiah 1–25. Word Biblical Commentary 26; Dallas: Word Books, 1991. Davis, Kipp. “Torah-Performance and History in the Golah: Rewritten Bible or ‘Re-presentational’ Authority in the Apocryphon of Jeremiah C.” Pp. 467–95 in Celebrating the Dead Sea Scrolls: A Canadian Collection. Ed. Peter W. Flint, Jean Duhaime and Kyung S. Baek. SBLEJL 30; Atlanta: SBL, 2011. ———. “Prophets of Exile: 4QApocryphon of Jeremiah C, Apocryphal Baruch, and the Efficacy of the Second Temple,” JSJ 44 (2013): 497–529. ———. “4Q481d Frg. 3: A New Fragment of 4QApocryphon of Jeremiah Cb (4Q387),” Semitica 56 (2014): 213–30. ———. The Cave 4 Apocryphon of Jeremiah and the Qumran Jeremianic Traditions. STDJ 111; Leiden: Brill, 2014. Dimant, Devorah. Qumran Cave 4. XXI: Parabiblical Texts, Part 4: Pseudo-Prophetic Texts. DJD 30; Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2001. ———. “Pseudo-Ezekiel and the Apocryphon of Jeremiah C in Perspective,” RevQ 25 (2011): 17–39. ———. History, Ideology and Bible Interpretation in the Dead Sea Scrolls. FAT 90; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2014. ———. “From the Book of Jeremiah to the Qumran Apocryphon of Jeremiah,” DSD 20 (2013): 452–71. Doering, Lutz. Ancient Jewish Letters and the Beginnings of Christian Epistolography. WUNT 298; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2012. Fishbane, Michael. Biblical Interpretation in Ancient Israel. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1985. Goldstein, Ronnie. “Jeremiah between Destruction and Exile: From Biblical to PostBiblical Traditions,” DSD 20 (2013): 433–51. Hughes, Julie A. Scriptural Allusions and Exegesis in the Hodayot. STDJ 59; Leiden: Brill, 2006. Janzen, J. Gerald. Studies in the Text of Jeremiah. HSM 6; Cambridge: Harvard University, 1973.

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Leuchter, Mark. “Remembering Jeremiah in the Persian Period.” Pp. 384–414 in Remembering Biblical Figures in the Late Persian and Early Hellenistic Periods: Social Memory and Imagination. Ed. Diana V. Edelman and Ehud Ben Zvi. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013. Maier, Christl. Jeremia als Lehrer der Tora: Soziale Gebote des Deuteronomiums in Fortschreibungen des Jeremiabuches. FRLANT 196; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2002. Mroczek, Eva. “Moses, David, and Scribal Revelation: Preservation and Renewal in Second Temple Jewish Textual Traditions.” Pp. 91–115 in The Significance of Sinai: Traditions about Divine Revelation in Judaism and Christianity. Ed. George J. Brooke, Hindy Najman and Loren T. Stuckenbruck. TBN 12; Leiden: Brill, 2008. Najman, Hindy. Seconding Sinai: The Development of Mosaic Discourse in Second Temple Judaism. JSJSup 77; Leiden: Brill, 2003. ———. Losing the Temple and Recovering the Future: An Analysis of 4 Ezra. New York: Cambridge University Press, 2014. Nissinen, Martti. “The Historical Dilemma of Biblical Prophetic Studies.” Pp. 103–20 in Prophecy in the Book of Jeremiah. Ed. Hans M. Barstad and Reinhard G. Kratz. BZAW 388; Berlin: de Gruyter, 2009. Perdue, Leo G. “Baruch among the Sages.” Pp. 260–90 in Uprooting and Planting: Essays on Jeremiah for Leslie Allen. Ed. John Goldingay. LHBOTS 459; London: T&T Clark International, 2007. Qimron, Elisha. “dbry yrmyhw (4Q385a–389; Apocryphon of Jeremiah).” Pp. 94–103 in The Dead Sea Scrolls: The Hebrew Writings. Vol. 2; Jerusalem: Yad Ben-Zvi Press, 2013 [Heb.]. Reynolds, Bennie H., III. “Adjusting the Apocalypse: How the Apocryphon of Jeremiah C Updates the Book of Daniel.” Pp. 279–94 in The Dead Sea Scrolls in Context: Integrating the Dead Sea Scrolls in the Study of Ancient Texts, Languages and Cultures. Ed. Armin Lange, Emanuel Tov, and Matthias Weigold. VTSup 140; Leiden: Brill, 2011. Scalise, Pamela J. “Baruch as First Reader: Baruch’s Lament in the Structure of the Book of Jeremiah.” Pp. 291–307 in Uprooting and Planting: Essays on Jeremiah for Leslie Allen. Ed. John Goldingay. LHBOTS 459; London: T&T Clark International, 2007. Schmid, Konrad. The Old Testament: A Literary History. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2012. Sherwood, Yvonne, and Mark Brummitt. “The Fear of Loss Inherent in Writing: Jeremiah 36 as the Story of a Self-Conscious Scroll.” Pp. 252–74 in Yvonne Sherwood, Biblical Blaspheming: Trials of the Sacred for a Secular Age. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012. Sommer, Benjamin. A Prophet Reads Scripture: Allusion in Isaiah 40–66. Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1998.

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Stulman, Louis. Jeremiah. Abingdon Old Testament Commentaries; Nashville: Abingdon, 2005. Tamási, Balázs. “Apocryphon of Jeremiah C from Qumran: Rewritten Prophetic Text or Something Else?” Pp. 203–19 in Rewritten Bible after Fifty Years: Texts, Terms, or Techniques? A Last Dialogue with Geza Vermes. Ed. József Zsengellér. JSJSup 166; Leiden: Brill, 2014. Tigchelaar, Eibert J. C. “Classification of the Collection of Dead Sea Scrolls and the Case of Apocryphon of Jeremiah,” JSJ 43 (2012): 519–50. Tov, Emanuel. “Some Aspects of the Textual and Literary History of the Book of Jeremiah.” Pp. 145–67 in Le livre de Jérémie: le prophète et son milieu, les oracles et leur transmission. Ed. Pierre-Maurice Bogaert. BETL 54; Leuven: Peeters, 1981. ———. “The Literary History of the Book of Jeremiah in the Light of its Textual History.” Pp. 211–37 in Empirical Models for Biblical Criticism. Ed. Jeffrey H. Tigay; Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania, 1985. ———. “Searching for the ‘Original Bible’: Do the Dead Sea Scrolls Help?” BAR 40/4 (2014): 48–53+68. Holladay, William L. Jeremiah 2. Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1989. Watson, Francis. Gospel Writing: A Canonical Perspective. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2013.

Chapter 28

New Material or Traditions Expanded? A Response to Eibert Tigchelaar Anja Klein When I briefly met Eibert Tigchelaar in Göttingen in 2013, I told him about my fascination with the Pseudo-Ezekiel material: In this case, I was convinced that the (so-called) “postbiblical” exegesis in Pseudo-Ezekiel continues the innerbiblical exegesis in the prophetic book. Back then I was confident that the same held true for the Jeremiah Apocryphon, but Eibert just said: “The Jeremiah material is completely different.” I was discouraged sufficiently not to have another look at the Jeremiah Apocryphon, but just finished the PseudoEzekiel paper.1 Therefore, I am quite pleased that Hindy Najman and Konrad Schmid offered me the opportunity to respond to Eibert Tigchelaar’s paper on “Jeremiah’s Scriptures in the Dead Sea Scrolls and the Growth of a Tradition” because that has given me a second chance to have a look at the Jeremiah material. I am afraid to say that I could not be put off my initial idea. Rather, I still feel confident that there is a continuing dynamic process of interpretation linking the Qumran Jeremiah material to the prophetic book of Jeremiah, though I have realized that some adjustments are in order. It is especially my use of the terms “innerbiblical exegesis” and “postbiblical exegesis” in order to distinguish between interpretation within the books that eventually became scripture, and interpretation in the Qumran material, which might be misleading.2 This terminology suggests two separate groups of texts that would, however, only later be qualified as “biblical” and “nonbiblical.” And it is only later that these two groups of texts were attributed a different status of authority. Yet if we part with this terminology, the phenomenon behind it deserves another glance. What is meant by speaking of

1  Anja Klein, “Resurrection as Reward for the Righteous: The Vision of the Dry Bones in Pseudo-Ezekiel as External Continuation of the Biblical Vision in Ezek 37:1–14,” in ‘I Lifted My Eyes and Saw’: Reading Dream and Vision Reports in the Hebrew Bible (ed. Lena-Sofia Tiemeyer and Elizabeth R. Hayes; LHBOTS 584; London: T&T Clark, 2014), 196–220. 2  It will suffice to say that this use of terminology raised legitimate questions at the conference itself, which helped to sharpen my argument.

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“innerbiblical exegesis” or “biblical interpretation”3 is the observation that the literary growth of the books later qualified as biblical can be explained by a dynamic exegetical process. Within a book itself, interpretation takes the shape of redaction history. However, research has demonstrated that these exegetical processes work also across books in ways that interpretation in one book can be taken up in another work. On this understanding, I would like to demonstrate that the interpretation of Jeremianic material in the Dead Sea Scrolls continues the exegetical discourse that is started in the texts later classified as biblical. The choice of topic in the Qumran material is not an arbitrary one in regard to the scriptural texts, but the Qumran texts actually take up and continue “biblical” interpretation. Thus, it is first and foremost material from later redactional layers of the book of Jeremiah that is taken up, but the Qumran interpretation also draws on motifs from the book that have already undergone a reception history in other books. It is an ongoing process of actualization and exegesis of Jeremianic material that already starts in the book of Jeremiah itself and continues in the Qumran texts. My point of departure is the fundamental question addressed by Eibert Tigchelaar in his paper on the Qumran material: To what extent do these later texts introduce new material or expand traditions that are initiated by the scriptural Jeremiah?4 This is a great question indeed, but I would like to give an answer that avoids the opposition suggested in its formulation: These texts produce new materials precisely by interpreting traditions initiated by the scriptural Jeremiah. This brings us back again to the phenomenon of biblical interpretation in terms of redactional activity. While the literary evidence points to the addition of new material by means of insertions, continuations, or cross-book references, one should assume that the redactors at work did not intend to add something “new.” Rather, their intention was to interpret the meaning of their received text (the Vorlage) by adding their interpretation and thus expanding tradition.5 Hence the implied 3   Cf. the classic by Michael Fishbane, Biblical Interpretation in Ancient Israel (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1985). 4  Cf. the article by Eibert Tigchelaar in this volume (“Jeremiah’s Scriptures in the Dead Sea Scrolls and the Growth of a Tradition,” 289–306); in which he states (ibid., 291: “A basic question throughout the discussion will be the extent to which these later texts introduce new material or expand traditions that are initiated by the scriptural Jeremiah.” 5  On these hermeneutical assumptions see the contributions by Odil H. Steck, “Prophetische Prophetenauslegung,” in Die Prophetenbücher und ihr theologisches Zeugnis (by Odil H. Steck; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1996), 127–204 (cf. the translation by James D. Nogalski: Odil H. Steck, The Prophetic Books and Their Theological Witness. St. Louis: Chalice, 2000), and Reinhard G. Kratz, “Innerbiblische Exegese und Redaktionsgeschichte im Lichte empirischer

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opposition between new material and traditions expanded falls short, as “new material” usually implies an interpretation of existing tradition. Therefore, I want to demonstrate in the following that the continuing interpretation of Jeremianic material in the Qumran texts aims at actualizing the prophecy of the book of Jeremiah. Actually, Eibert Tigchelaar has paved the way nicely for my argument and assembled all the evidence required. As far as I can see, he comes up with a number of concerns that connect the Qumran Jeremiah materials with the scriptural Jeremiah. Thereby, he describes “The Growth of Jeremianic Traditions” by distinguishing between those elements that are taken up in the so-called Jeremianic Corpus only (“things Jeremianic in one or more different mss or works”)6 and those that find a broader reception beyond the Corpus. Again, on the understanding that there is an ongoing process of interpretation, this distinction does not seem to be decisive, though it is certainly helpful for the presentation. According to Tigchelaar, among the first category falls the transformation of the figure of the prophet Jeremiah, which is mainly represented by those texts that are assigned to the Apocryphon of Jeremiah (4Q383, 4Q384, 4Q385a, 4Q387, 4Q388a, 4Q389, 4Q390, 4Q387a).7 There are two features that attract attention in the representation of the prophet. Firstly, the Apocryphon portrays Jeremiah “in terms like Moses” (Tigchelaar)8 in that he appears as Evidenz,” in Das Judentum im Zeitalter des Zweiten Tempels (by Reinhard G. Kratz; FAT 42; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2004), 126–56. 6  This is the definition used by Tigchelaar in the version of his paper presented at the conference. 7  The edition of this manuscript group was carried out by Devorah Dimant, taking up the work of John Strugnell (Devorah Dimant, Qumran Cave 4: Parabiblical Texts. Part 4: PseudoProphetic Texts [DJD 30; Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2001], 91–260), with the exception of 4Q384, which was edited by Mark Smith in Qumran Cave 4: Parabiblical Texts: Part 2 (ed. Magen Broshi et al.; DJD 19; Oxford: Clarendon, 1995), 137–52. On the history of research and the question of grouping the fragments, cf. Dimant, Parabiblical Texts, 1–3, 91–116; she reassesses the material in a recent contribution, cf. Devorah Dimant, “Pseudo-Ezekiel and the Apocryphon of Jeremiah C in Perspective,” in History, Ideology and Bible Interpretation in the Dead Sea Scrolls (by Devorah Dimant; FAT 90; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2014), 423–40. While Dimant’s work on the manuscript group has found general approval, criticism has been levelled at her assignment of 4Q390 to the Jeremiah Apocryphon, cf. among others Loren T. Stuckenbruck, 1 Enoch 91–108 (Commentaries on Early Jewish Literature; Berlin: de Gruyter, 2007), 55–56, and Christoph Berner, Jahre, Jahrwochen und Jubiläen: Heptadische Geschichtskonzeptionen im Antiken Judentum (BZAW 363; Berlin: de Gruyter, 2006), esp. 398–99. 8  Tigchelaar, “Jeremiah’s Scriptures in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” 293. The portrayal of Jeremiah in terms like Moses was observed earlier by George Brooke, “The Book of Jeremiah and its

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teacher of Torah, who gives instructions for a pious life in exile—an overall function that Lutz Doering has summed up appropriately under the term “Toraparänese.”9 The later narrative frame of the Apocryphon in 4Q385a f18ia–b, 7–1110 describes how the prophet Jeremiah exhorts the exiles in Babylon to keep the covenant and the divine statutes. Not only does this job description recall the role of Moses, who serves as the commissioned law-giver par excellence, but the likeness is further elaborated by the setting of the Torah exhortation to the Babylonian golah “at the river” (f18ia– b, 7: ‫)[הנהר‬, which evokes the setting of Moses in the plains of Moab at the Jordan (Num 33–36; Deut 1, 29–31).11 One might even wonder whether this setting does not also pay tribute to a further scriptural prophet, namely Ezekiel, who addresses the Babylonian golah at the river Chebar in exile (Ezek 1:1: ‫)על־נהר־כבר‬. The scene in the Apocryphon changes, however, to the golah in Egypt in f18ii. Here, the exiled Israelites are likewise summoned to seek God’s statutes and keep his commandments, while they shall withhold from idol worship (f18ii, 8–10). This portrayal of Jeremiah as teacher of Torah in a Mosaic cloak is by no means unprecedented, but the author draws on the ongoing interpretation within the book of Jeremiah, where the prophet only in later redactional reworkings appears as a Mosaic teacher of Torah (Jer 7:5–8; 17:19–27; 22:1–5; 34:12–17).12 The interpretation of the Qumran Apocryphon Reception in the Qumran Scrolls,” in The Book of Jeremiah and its Reception: Le Livre de Jérémie et sa réception (ed. Adrian H. W. Curtis and Thomas Römer; BETL 128; Leuven: Leuven University Press, 1997) 183–205, at 191; cf. also Dimant, Parabiblical Texts, 105. 9   Lutz Doering, “Jeremia in Babylonien und Ägypten: Mündliche und schriftliche Toraparänese für Exil und Diaspora nach 4QApocryphon of Jeremiah C,” in Frühjudentum und Neues Testament im Horizont Biblischer Theologie: Mit einem Anhang zum Corpus Judaeo-Hellenisticum Novi Testamenti (ed. Wolfgang Kraus and Karl-Wilhelm Niebuhr, with the co-operation of Lutz Doering; WUNT 162; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2003), 50–79, at 59–60, 62. 10  On the arrangement of the material in the Jeremiah Apocryphon cf. Dimant, Parabiblical Texts, 99–100. 11  Cf. Brooke, “Book,” 191; Devorah Dimant, “An Apocryphon of Jeremiah from Cave 4 (4Q385B = 4Q385 16),” in New Qumran Texts and Studies: Proceedings of the First Meeting of the IOQS, Paris 1992 (ed. George J. Brooke, with Florentino García Martínez; STDJ 15; Leiden: Brill, 1994), 11–30, at 20, 25–30. 12   Cf. the study by Christl Maier, Jeremia als Lehrer der Tora: Soziale Gebote des Deuteronomiums in Fortschreibungen des Jeremiabuches (FRLANT 196; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck und Ruprecht, 2002), esp. 370–72. More general, Doering, “Book,” 73, deems the figure of Jeremiah being exceptionally compatible (“anschlussfähig”) for Torah exhortations in the development of biblical tradition.

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thus draws on an exegetical trail occurring in the book itself and enlarges the picture of Jeremiah as teacher of Torah. The second aspect addressed by Tigchelaar is that of Jeremiah and lament. In 4Q385a f18ii, 2, the people ask Jeremiah to intercede on their behalf. However, instead of complying with this request, the prophet laments over Jerusalem (f18ii, 4–5: ‫◦[   קינות ע]ל ירושלים‬ ‫‏‏‬ ‫)ירמיה מקונ‏ן‬. Tigchelaar rightly points to the ambiguity of this lament, which allows for an interpretation both in terms of underscoring the end of hope and opening up the possibility of a new future. However, the thing that attracts our attention is that the author of the Apocryphon draws on the debate on intercession in the book of Jeremiah. While intercession is part of the prophet’s general duties (cf. Jer 21:2, 42:2), God in some texts explicitly forbids Jeremiah to intercede on behalf of his people (Jer 7:16, 11:14, 15:1). Against this background, the passage in 4Q385 f18ii can be understood as a “narrative transformation”13 of this specific feature that gives an account of how Jeremiah obeys the divine prohibition to intercede. Though there is no consensus yet on the literary historical placement of the ban on intercession, it can be assumed safely that it belongs to later reworkings of the scriptural book.14 Furthermore, by drawing on the note in 2 Chr 35:25 that tells how Jeremiah utters a lament over Josiah (‫)ויקונן ירמיהו‬,15 the Apocryphon integrates yet another Jeremianic text. By combining the ban on intercession with the note of the prophetic lament, the author of the Apocryphon follows up an exegetical trail that starts with later reworkings in the book itself and leads into the literary reception in the books of Chronicles. A similar exegetical trajectory can be observed with regard to the material that Tigchelaar files under those cases that find a broader reception beyond the Jeremianic Corpus. His first example is the 70-year motif that in Jer 25:11–12 and 29:10 restricts the Babylonian reign to seventy years, after which Babylon shall be judged (25:12) and the golah will return (29:14). This motif is originally taken up in a number of “biblical” texts.16 Both 2 Chr 36:21–22 and Ezra 1:1 refer by name to the prophecy of Jeremiah, and the author of 2 Chr 36 13  Cf. Doering, “Jeremia”, 63–64: “Damit wird eine Vorgabe des biblischen Jer-Buchs narrativ transformiert, derzufolge Gott den Propheten auffordert, nicht für das Volk Fürsprache zu halten.” 14  Cf. Maier, Jeremia, 99; Winfried Thiel, Die deuteronomistische Redaktion von Jeremia 1–25 (WMANT 41; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1973), 119. 15  On the connection to 2 Chr 35:25 cf. Tigchelaar, “Jeremiah’s Scriptures in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” 293; Dimant, Parabiblical Texts, 165 (who further refers to 1 Esd 1:30). 16  On the interpretation cf. Reinhard G. Kratz, Translatio imperii: Untersuchungen zu den aramäischen Danielerzählungen und ihrem theologiegeschichtlichen Umfeld (WMANT 63; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1991), 261–67; Berner, Jahre, 78–84.

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relates the exile of the people to the sabbath repose of the land, a concept taken from Lev 26:31–35. This heptadic structure of the seventy years also characterizes the exegesis in Dan 9, which elongates the Jeremianic seventy years by interpreting the time span in terms of seventy weeks of seven years each (Dan 9:2, 24–27).17 Yet the Qumran Apocryphon undertakes a further (heptadic) adjustment by transferring the prolonged time span of seventy year-weeks from Dan 9 into a jubilean periodization of history (4Q387 f2ii, 3–4: ‫)עשרה יבלי שנים‬. However, while the author of Dan 9 operates with a clear distinction between the text of Jeremiah (70 years) and his own interpretation thereof, the exegesis in the Apocryphon presupposes the knowledge of the Jeremianic Vorlage and offers a simple substitution of the 70-year-period. Thus, the substitution in the Apocryphon—compared with the opposition of Vorlage and interpretation in Dan 9—suggests a greater independence from the original prophecy in the book of Jeremiah. Apparently, this allowed for more freedom in the interpretation, while it can be assumed further that the intended readers of the Apocryphon were familiar enough with the Jeremianic prophecies to make the connection. The jubilean periodization recurs in the fragment 4Q390, though its affiliation with the Jeremiah Apocryphon is disputed.18 However, its use of periodization is indication that the work should be counted among the Qumran Jeremianic texts—as Tigchelaar has done in his conference handout.19 Firstly, in 4Q390 f1, 2, the Jeremianic date of seventy years (‫ )שבעים שנה‬is applied onto the period of exile, which is characterized as a time of the people’s transgression. Yet the work clearly operates with the idea of a prolonged time of exile in terms of jubilees, as in the following section f1, 7–10, the re-emergence of sin in a new generation is dated into the seventh jubilee of the devastation of the land (f1, 7–8: ‫)השביעי לחרבן הארץ‬.20 The motif of the devastated land again draws on the prophecy of Jer 25:11, where the desolation of the land during exile is announced (‫)והיתה כל הארץ הזאת לחרבה‬. While the links to the book of Jeremiah show clearly that the author of 4Q390 is concerned with the Jeremianic concept of exile, the jubilean periodization is further proof that he was aware of the interpretation of the seventy years 17  Cf. Kratz, Translatio imperii, 263–67; Berner, Jahre, 22–99, 501. 18  Cf. on this the literature quoted in note 7. 19  In the published version of his paper, Tigchelaar suggests that 4Q390 “displays a perspective after these initial days of the kingdom and therefore probably would fit better with a Jeremianic text then with a Mosaic one” (Tigchelaar, “Jeremiah’s Scriptures in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” 299.). 20  Cf. Berner, Jahre, 412.

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in other materials—which for him can only have been a continuation of the “real” Jeremiah. He thus describes postexilic history by drawing on the idea of the prolongation of the Jeremianic seventy years as a history of recurring sin. Finally, Tigchelaar refers to the idea of the new covenant in Jer 31:31–34 that belongs to late redactional reworkings of the prophetic book.21 This promise deals with the inscription of the Torah onto the heart as a prerequisite for keeping the new covenant with God. The reflection on the necessary human condition for obedience to the covenant has found a wide reception in the Dead Sea Scrolls. Tigchelaar firstly names the fragment 4Q470 (“4QText Concerning Zedekiah”), in which the combination of a renewed covenant and Torah occurs, though the text is too fragmentary to draw conclusions on its interpretation. However, the idea of a new covenant has found its way into the Qumran texts primarily by way of the exegesis of Jer 31 found in Ezek 36 and Ps 51 “with an emphasis on the creation of a new spirit and a right inclination which allows one to observe the commandments.”22 Here, the Rule of the Community should be mentioned, in which the disposition of the spirit determines the membership of the individual (1QS V, 21; V, 24; VI, 17; IX, 14, 18, 22).23 Yet the terminology of the “new covenant” is adopted in the Damascus Document (CD VI:19, VIII:21, XIX:33–34, XX:12) and the Habakkuk Pesher (1QpHab 2:3–4). In these texts, the Qumran community uses the term of the new covenant as a self-designation, understanding themselves as members of the “new covenant” in opposition to the first covenant that was broken by Israel in the First Temple period.24 The interpretation in the Qumran texts clearly draws on the preceding history of 21  Deuteronomistic classification has long been assumed (cf. exemplary Winfried Thiel, Die deuteronomistische Redaktion von Jeremia 26–45 [WMANT 52; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1981], 20–28), while recent studies suggest a late postexilic date (cf. e.g. Konrad Schmid, Buchgestalten des Jeremiabuches: Untersuchungen zur Redaktionsund Rezeptionsgeschichte von Jer 30–33 im Kontext des Buches [WMANT 72; NeukirchenVluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1996], 301–4, 348, 372–73, and Walter Gross, “Der neue Bund in Jer 31 und die Suche nach übergreifenden Bundeskonzeptionen im Alten Testament,” ThQ 176 [1996], 259–72, at 262–63). 22  Tigchelaar, “Jeremiah’s Scriptures in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” 300. 23  The different parts of 1QS show a different understanding of the spirit, though; on this and the exegetical transmission from Jer 31 through Ezek 36 and Ps 51 into the Rule of the Community cf. Anja Klein, “From the ‘Right Spirit’ to the ‘Spirit of Truth’: Observations on Psalm 51 and 1QS,” in The Dynamics of Language and Exegesis at Qumran (ed. Devorah Dimant and Reinhard G. Kratz; FAT II/35; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2009), 171–91. 24  Cf. on this Bilhah Nitzan, “The Concept of Covenant in Qumran Literature,” in Historical Perspectives from the Hasmoneans to Bar Kokhba in Light of the Dead Sea Scrolls (ed. David M.

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exegesis in Ezek 36 and Ps 51, in which the idea of the new covenant is interpreted along the lines that the new covenant requires a new spiritual disposition—an image that the Qumran community used in order to constitute their self-understanding as members of the new covenant. Let me briefly summarise my argument. All four chosen examples furnish proof for my initial suggestion that there is a continuing process of exegesis connecting the book of Jeremiah (and especially its redaction history) with the Qumran material.25 While examples such as the portrayal of the prophetic figure or the motif of lament go back predominantly to later reworkings in the book of Jeremiah itself, the idea of the seventy years and the concept of the new covenant draw on the reception history of the motifs in other materials. From the perspective of exegetical method, there is no decisive difference between the productive interpretation of the Jeremianic materials in other scriptural books (Ezekiel, Psalms, Daniel, Chronicles) and their interpretation in the Dead Sea Scrolls. It is only the later canonical process that draws a line between “innerbiblical” and “postbiblical” interpretation. Coming back to Eibert Tigchelaar’s initial question, the continuing productive exegesis is evidence of the growth of Jeremianic contents that introduces new material by expanding prophetic traditions. The exegesis aims at explaining the new thing that was already immanent in the old prophecies, but it had to be brought to light in a new interpretation for a new time. However, with regard to the Qumran Jeremiah Apocryphon, there remains the question of why the interpretation was not written into the book of Jeremiah itself, but constituted a new work. In this case, it should be assumed that there was an understanding of the prophetic book as a closed corpus. Nevertheless, the prophetic figure of Jeremiah was apparently authoritative enough for his prophecies to be continued. It is especially the idea of Jeremiah as teacher of Torah and his prophecies about exile and restoration that drew later authors to his book and that made him attractive for the Qumran Community. Being separated from the second temple, Torah obedience was likely an important identity marker for the members of the community of the new covenant, while the exegesis of the Jeremianic seventy years allowed them to position themselves in relation to the end of times. Goodblatt, Avital Pinnick, and Daniel R. Schwartz; STDJ 37; Leiden: Brill, 2001), 85–104, esp. 93–98. 25  Similarly Brooke, “Book,” 203: “. . . the range of Jeremiah Apocrypha . . . shows how there was a continuing development of Jeremiah traditions in the Second Tempel period. This development may begin in the biblical book itself, but the process of the own book’s composition and redaction seems to be reflected in a considerable corpus of apocryphal Jeremiah compositions.”

Chapter 29

Unities and Boundaries across the Jeremianic Dead Sea Scrolls. A Response to Eibert Tigchelaar James Nati I’d like to begin by thanking Eibert Tigchelaar for a clear and well-organized treatment of what I consider to be a very exciting topic and set of texts. A straightforward description of this material, both the book of Jeremiah and what Tigchelaar calls the larger “Jeremianic Corpus” in the Dead Sea Scrolls, is noteworthy in that this corpus has been renamed, its fragments renumbered and reassigned by many scholars without much consensus.1 Tigchelaar’s effort to evaluate what he refers to as a “collection” of material is to be applauded. In response to Tigchelaar’s paper, I would like to highlight a few trajectories and pose some questions that may be worthy of further investigation. The first of these has to do with the nature and contours of what he labels the “Jeremianic Collection.” To my knowledge, this terminology originates with Tigchelaar, and it seems that this label applies to only some of the Jeremianic material in the Scrolls. For example, he mentions that 4Q384, a text which has been labeled the “Apocryphon of Jeremiah B” because of its mention of the place name ‫תחפנס‬, should not be considered a part of the “Jeremianic Collection,” although it is still a Jeremianic text.2 While he does not state this explicitly, it appears that Tigchelaar’s “Jeremianic Collection” is synonymous with what has been labeled by other scholars as the Apocryphon of Jeremiah C. It seems to me that the term “collection” is most often used to refer to a group of different compositions, and given that Tigchelaar understands the Jeremianic Collection to constitute a single composition, I wonder if this new terminology confuses more than it clarifies. More than the semantics of this label, though, are the issues of unity within the Collection in particular, and the boundaries between the various Jeremianic compositions in the Scrolls more broadly. On the first of these points, Tigchelaar questions the assignment and order of the narrative fragments of the Collection 1  For the official publication of this material, see Devorah Dimant, Qumran Cave 4. XXI; Parabiblical Texts, Part 4: Pseudo-Prophetic Texts (DJD 30; Oxford: Clarendon, 2001). 2  See Eibert Tigchelaar, “Jeremiah’s Scriptures in the Dead Sea Scrolls and the Growth of a Tradition,” in this volume, 298.

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but does not offer a final word as to what the Collection, which he believes constituted a discrete composition, may have looked like.3 As Kipp Davis has noted recently, there seem to be indications that the Collection itself may have undergone a process of growth at Qumran.4 If this is in fact the case, how are we to envision the unity of this discrete composition, preserved in more than one copy, especially when it may be best described as a “collection”? In other words, to what extent is the Collection a unified composition as opposed to something like a rolling corpus? Tigchelaar addresses the second issue, which has to do with the boundaries between various compositions, in two instances. The first is in his treatment of the evidence for the book of Jeremiah at Qumran, in which he correctly, I think, pushes back against the notion that the book existed there in two recensions that largely correspond to the MT and LXX versions. In highlighting the fact that five out of seven Jeremiah manuscripts at Qumran do not align with either the MT or LXX text, Tigchelaar implicitly asks us to challenge notions of canon and textual fixity that may be anachronistically projected onto this early material. The second instance in which this challenge to easily-drawn boundaries comes to the fore is in his comparison of the Jeremianic Corpus with parts of the book of Jubilees. Tigchelaar highlights a series of locutions that a number of the Jeremianic fragments from the Scrolls share with the book of Jubilees, specifically—and notably—in those chapters of Jubilees (1, 6, and 23) that some consider to be secondary.5 Particularly noteworthy are his remarks on 4Q384, in which he draws attention to this text’s reference to the ‫מחלקות העתים‬, a phrase that is found in the prologue and throughout chapter 1 of Jubilees. While Tigchelaar does not go so far as to suggest that 4Q384 is best considered a manuscript related first and foremost to Jubilees (due to its mention of ‫תחפנס‬, a place name with an explicitly Jeremianic association), he helpfully notes the degree of overlap between the Jeremiah and Jubilees material such that we may further question how firmly fixed either of these discourses (and their constituent texts) were in the first two centuries bce.6 Given that the ‫ מחלקות העתים‬occur outside of Jubilees, as shown by 4Q384, 3  For a recent treatment of the order of these fragments, see Kipp Davis, The Cave 4 Apocryphon of Jeremiah and the Qumran Jeremianic Traditions: Prophetic Persona and the Construction of Community Identity (STDJ 111; Leiden: Brill, 2014), 46–102. 4  See, for example, the presence of ‫ מל[א]כי המשטמות‬at 4Q387 2 iii 4. The phrase is absent in all other witnesses. See Davis, The Cave 4 Apocryphon of Jeremiah, 155. 5  Tigchelaar, “Jeremiah’s Scriptures,” 297–98. 6  On the growth of Jubilees in particular, see also Eibert J. C. Tigchelaar, “The Qumran Jubilees Manuscripts as Evidence for the Literary Growth of the Book,” RevQ 26 (2014): 579–94.

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how sure can we be that a passage such as CD 16:3—often considered an early citation of Jubilees—is aware of the same distinctions that we tend to draw between compositions? Lastly is the issue of how this material informs, and perhaps alters, our conceptions about processes of literary growth. Particularly illustrative in this regard are Tigchelaar’s remarks on the textual history of the Nahum oracle in the MT, LXX, and 4Q385a. As Tigchelaar notes, the LXX reading of this verse contains a double reading of the first stich, one of which corresponds to the MT and the other to 4Q385a 17a–e ii 4–5. Tigchelaar suggests that the MT and 4Q385a texts bear witness to the existence of two traditions that circulated independently and were later incorporated into the Nahum text by the LXX translator. On the question of why this oracle (in either form) would be attributed to Jeremiah— or at least included in a Jeremianic collection—Prof. Tigchelaar offers the possibility that it “may be related to Jeremiah’s oracle on the judgment of Egypt, which was plausibly seen to be fulfilled by Antiochus IV’s invasion of Egypt.”7 In other words, the presence of Thebes (No-Amon) in one version of the oracle may have led both versions to be associated with Jeremiah due to his other oracles against Egypt (most notably in Jer 46), especially in light of the events of the mid-second century bce. On the inclusion of this material toward the end of one manuscript of the Collection, Tigchelaar writes that we cannot be sure whether it was part of a “fixed collection” or if this manuscript in particular “constituted a kind of Sammelhandschrift.”8 Tigchelaar is right to exercise caution in describing the nature and history of this manuscript and its place in the Collection. I wonder, though, whether the distinction between a “fixed collection” (which assumes that other manuscripts of the Collection would have contained this oracle) and a “Sammelhandschrift” (which suggests that 4Q385a contained an appendix of material that was otherwise disconnected from the Collection) best accounts for this evidence. Might it be the case that 4Q385a, both in its association of this Nahum material with Jeremiah and in its attestation of a non-MT oracle, bears witness to a process of textual growth that is radically more fluid than we often think? In other words, is it possible that the other manuscripts of the Jeremianic Collection could have constituted other, possibly different Sammelhandschriften with a core of shared material?

7  Tigchelaar, “Jeremiah’s Scriptures,” 296. 8  Ibid., 296.

Chapter 30

Jeremiah, Baruch, and Their Books: Three Phases in a Changing Relationship Matthias Henze and Liv Ingeborg Lied This paper is about two unequal books—one canonical and with an impressive reception history, and the other commonly categorized as a pseudepigraphon, re-discovered only in the nineteenth century, and with almost no modern history of interpretation to speak of. The canonical book is the book of Jeremiah, and the pseudepigraphon the Syriac Apocalypse of Baruch, or 2 Baruch, for short. Our interest is to study the relationship between the two books, looking at them through a particular lens, the changes in the presentation of the relationship between their two protagonists, Jeremiah and Baruch. Our argument is that the relationship between Jeremiah and Baruch changed over time. It changed as the texts about them and the transmission history of the books changed. To be precise, for heuristic purposes the history of their friendship can be divided into three rather different phases. The first phase can be identified with the book of Jeremiah itself because it is here that we first meet the two characters, Jeremiah and Baruch. In the book of Jeremiah, Jeremiah is the hero, whereas Baruch plays only a minor role, clearly subordinate to Jeremiah. He is the prophet’s loyal scribe, nothing more. From here we move to the second phase in their friendship, the time of Jeremiah’s early readers. At the turn of the Common Era, a number of new books were written about and attributed to Jeremiah or his scribe Baruch. These books form the collection of books the organizers of our conference have called “Jeremiah’s Scriptures.” One of these books is 2 Baruch, an apocalypse from the late first or early second century of the Common Era. Here the tables are turned: Jeremiah appears right at the beginning of 2 Baruch, to be sure, but he is soon sent away, never having said a word, never to return. Jeremiah remains altogether passive, whereas Baruch becomes the dominant character of the story. He is a prophet in his own right, the end-time successor to biblical Jeremiah. The third phase of their friendship, finally, brings us to the transmission history of 2 Baruch. Here the Syriac manuscripts that have preserved the book are our most relevant sources. Somewhat surprisingly, we find that Baruch reverts back to his original role, he becomes the scribe again. The Epistle of Baruch, which makes up the last ten chapters of 2 Baruch and which, as we will see, circulated independently of the rest of the apocalypse, comes to be subsumed © koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���7 | doi ��.��63/9789004320253_031

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by, or perhaps better, to be added to a Jeremianic corpus in the Peshiṭta Old Testament. The inclusion of Baruch’s Epistle with the Jeremiah material in the manuscripts is significant, not only for what it tells us about how Baruch’s text was perceived by those who listened to it, but also for how it changes the nature of the corpus of texts associated with Jeremiah among Syriac Christians. We will employ two different approaches to the material that are rarely combined in the same study. The first approach is that of the exegete or interpreter of texts. We begin with a literary investigation of our two texts. Specifically, our task will be twofold. We are interested, first, in how 2 Baruch was written under the influence of its biblical predecessor, and, in a way, how it mimics the book of Jeremiah by developing Jeremiah’s language and ideas further. Second, we want to examine similarities between the two books that are not simply the result of “borrowing.” With the second approach we will change the focus from a literary study of the two books to an interpretive study of the manuscripts that contain parts or the assumed whole of the text of 2 Baruch. Hence, we move from a text-internal study, where the focus is on the textual content of the literary unit, to a study of the history of the text, the material contexts of the text-on-the page in individual manuscripts. Our empirical focus is on specific textual units in the manuscripts, collocations of units, and on the identification of these entities in the titles and end titles. Our main interest is to investigate, albeit briefly, how the Syriac text transmission may have affected the discourses on Jeremiah and Baruch, the relationship between them, and the books associated with them. In order to gain a more complete understanding of the changing nature of Jeremiah’s and Baruch’s friendship, it is imperative to combine these two approaches, the literary study of the two texts as we have received them and the interpretative study of the Syriac manuscripts. Manuscripts have commonly been used primarily as witnesses to a text. In this paper we will move beyond this limited use of manuscripts and pay attention to the meaning of the received text as well as to the manuscripts and their contexts as sources to further interpretation and ongoing meaning making in different situations and periods of reception. 1

Second Baruch

A few words may be in order to introduce 2 Baruch. 2 Baruch is a Jewish apocalypse of the historical type, to follow John J. Collins’s definition of the genre.1 It was most likely written in Israel, possibly in or around Jerusalem, a few 1  John J. Collins, “The Jewish Apocalypses,” Semeia 14 (1979): 21–59.

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decades after the destruction of the temple in the year 70 ce.2 Broadly speaking, 2 Baruch has a dual purpose: it seeks to explain the traumatic damage resulting from the Roman sacking of Jerusalem; and it wants to point beyond the destruction and suggest a way forward. Written pseudonymously from the perspective of Baruch, 2 Baruch develops an impressively coherent road map for the post-70 Jewish community. This road map, which takes the form of an apocalyptic program for Israel, stands mainly on three legs. First, 2 Baruch draws on and re-writes Deuteronomic theology. Of the various ways in which Deuteronomic theology finds its expression in the apocalypse (e.g., in the appeal to the covenant; in the centrality of Moses as a model for Baruch and the community; in the scheme of reward and punishment), the most visible expression is the emphasis on the Mosaic Torah. Obedience to the Torah and observance of God’s commandments will bring rich rewards for Israel, whereas disobedience brings the curses of the covenant. Much like the Sages at the time, 2 Baruch advocates for a Torah-centered form of post-70 Judaism. The second leg on which 2 Baruch’s theological program stands is the apocalyptic promise of a new heaven and a new earth, a worldview with deep roots reaching back to biblical prophecy. The damage caused by the Romans was real. Israel’s loss of intimacy with God is thought to be so complete that the only conceivable form of renewal is through a radical break, the promise of an absolute ending of sorts, followed by the in-breaking of a new reality.3 The third and possibly most visible leg of the program, finally, is the figure of Baruch himself, who, in many respects, embodies the fate of the community. 2 Baruch offers a rather personal reflection on the meaning of loss and rebuilding, all told from the perspective of Baruch. The seer gives voice to the agony of the many, for the fate of the nation and the fate of Baruch are inextricably linked. It easily becomes apparent to the modern reader that many of Baruch’s concerns may not be too far removed from what must have 2  The majority of scholars holds that 2 Baruch was written after, and in direct response to the events of the year 70 ce. See the summaries in Pierre-Maurice Bogaert, L’Apocalypse syriaque de Baruch: Introduction, traduction du syriaque et commentaire (2 vols.; SC 144–45; Paris: Cerf, 1969), 1:270–95; and Matthias Henze, Jewish Apocalypticism in Late First Century Israel: Reading Second Baruch in Context (TSAJ 142; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011), 25–32. Most recently, Martin Goodman, “The Date of 2 Baruch,” in Revealed Wisdom: Studies in Apocalyptic in Honor of Christopher Rowland (ed. John Ashton; Leiden: Brill, 2014), 116–21, has tentatively suggested that 2 Baruch may have been written before the year 70 ce. 3  This idea of an absolute end, not only as a focal point in the eschatological future but as a source of meaning right now has been captured masterfully by Frank Kermode, The Sense of an Ending: Studies in the Theory of Fiction with a New Epilogue (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000).

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been real concerns of the post-70 community: an anxiety about the next generation of leaders and the future of the religious institutions, about communal rebuilding and the post-destruction reorganization of the community, about cultures of revelation now that the temple lies in ruins, and about finding new ways of discerning the will of God in the absence of temple and sacrifices.4 The three main legs of 2 Baruch’s apocalyptic program converge in the person of Baruch. They are an emphasis on the Mosaic Torah, the apocalyptic promise of a new eon, and an intimate portrayal of Baruch, who infuses a deeply personal element into the story of Jerusalem’s destruction. 2

The Book of Jeremiah

In the Hebrew Bible, Baruch son of Neriah is only mentioned in the book of Jeremiah, where he is the scribal assistant and close confidant to the prophet.5 Baruch appears in four pericopes in the book. He first enters the scene, rather unannounced and only in passing, in Jer 32:12–16, where he functions as a witness to a commercial transaction. During the Babylonian invasion, Jeremiah is offered the opportunity to purchase a piece of property in his hometown of Anathoth. God tells him to buy the land, presumably as a symbolic sign act of confidence. Jeremiah buys the property and asks his secretary Baruch to sign the deed of purchase before witnesses and to store it in a jar. The three references to Baruch in 32:12, 13, 16 remain terse, and we learn nothing about Baruch beyond his legal role. His sole function is to administer and certify the land transaction and to see to it that the written record is properly deposited. Jeremiah 36 is the second and longest text about Baruch in the Bible. God orders Jeremiah to write down everything God has told him. Jeremiah promptly calls Baruch, who writes everything on a scroll. Jeremiah has been banned from entering the temple, we are not told why, so he sends Baruch in his stead to read the scroll publicly. Upon hearing the content of the scroll, the 4  On the ongoing debate regarding the significance of the year 70 ce for Jews and Judaism, see Daniel R. Schwartz and Zeev Weiss in collaboration with Ruth A. Clements, eds., Was 70 CE a Watershed in Jewish History? On Jews and Judaism Before and After the Destruction of the Second Temple (Leiden: Brill, 2012). 5  According to Jer 32:12, his full name is Baruch son of Neriah son of Mahseiah. Outside the Bible his name also appears in a seventh-century bce inscription on a clay seal that reads “Belonging to Baruch son of Neriah the scribe;” cf. Nahman Avigad, ”Baruch the Scribe and Jerahmeel the King’s Son,” IEJ 28 (1978): 52–56, and idem, ”Jerahmeel and Baruch,” BA 42 (1979): 114–18.

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king shows himself unimpressed and instead of renting his clothes (the contrast to the similar story in 2 Kgs 22 is striking), he cuts the scroll into pieces and throws it into the fire. At this point God calls on Jeremiah to write another scroll. The story ends, somewhat abruptly, with Baruch writing the new scroll. Baruch’s role in this famous episode is closely tied to Jeremiah and to the recording of the divine message.6 No fewer than four times are we reminded that Baruch did not write the scroll at his own inspiration but that what he wrote came directly “from the mouth of Jeremiah” (vv. 4, 18, 27, and 32; cf. 45:1). Baruch’s function is again clear: he is the personal scribe of Jeremiah and serves as his representative, or public face. He is sent to the temple to proclaim Jeremiah’s message, and he dares to read the scroll to the king. Baruch is the transmitter of the divine word, not its recipient or its author, and he acts exclusively on behalf of Jeremiah. The third reference to Baruch comes in Jer 43. A group of Judean rebels, pro-Egyptian opponents of the prophet Jeremiah, has formed around a certain Johanan son of Kareah. They blame Baruch for inciting the prophet against them. Specifically, they claim that it was Baruch who had urged Jeremiah to deliver them into the hands of the Babylonians. In response, Johanan takes Jeremiah, Baruch, and all the remnant of Judah down into Egypt, presumably against their will, where we lose sight of them. In chapter 43 we only hear of Baruch through Johanan’s accusations, which remain unsubstantiated, and from the brief note that he was taken into Egypt (43:3, 6–7). Baruch is not offered an opportunity to defend himself against the accusations that are being brought against him. He remains altogether silent, and he does not protest his deportation into Egypt. The fourth reference to Baruch comes in Jer 45, an oracle addressed to Baruch. The year is 605 bce, the fourth year of King Jehoiakim. Baruch is reprimanded for having complained about his hardship.7 In response, God announces a harsh future that will bring disaster upon all flesh. But the oracle 6  Much has been made of this story and what it may tell us about the earliest stages in the production of the prophetic book. Best known is the hypothesis that Baruch wrote down Jeremiah’s memoirs that came to be one of the book’s main sources; see Bernhard Duhm, Das Buch Jeremia (KHC; Tübingen: Mohr, 1901); and Sigmund Mowinckel, Zur Komposition des Buches Jeremia (Kristiania: Jacob Dybwad, 1914). See also the contribution in this volume by Friedhelm Hartenstein, “Prophets, Princes, and Kings: Prophecy and Prophetic Books according to Jeremiah 36.” 7  The reason for and the precise nature of Baruch’s complaint remain unclear because “there is nothing in the tradition to suggest that Baruch was anything other than an inert figure who did Jeremiah’s bidding,” according to Robert P. Carroll, Jeremiah: A Commentary (Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1986), 747.

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ends on a positive note. Whereas devastation will be wide-spread, Baruch will gain his “life as a prize of war” (45:5). In other words, Baruch is promised that he will live. He will survive all calamities, wherever he will go. The text is significant for us for two reasons. First, for the first time in Jeremiah, we learn a little more about Baruch. He is the recipient of an oracle—even though he does not communicate directly with God but only indirectly through Jeremiah. The vocabulary of 45:4, of “breaking down” and “plucking up” is taken from 1:10, the call narrative of Jeremiah. The two figures are thus likened verbally in the divine assurance that they receive.8 The second reason why the text is important is that it suggests why Baruch will emerge in post-biblical times as a popular pseudonym. Baruch is promised to live. He will receive his own life as war booty (a striking metaphor in times of war!).9 Baruch is associated with the future, with that which endures—an association that resonates well with Baruch’s earlier appearances. In Jer 32 it is the field that embodies continuity. The discontinuity in Jer 43 is counter-balanced nicely with Baruch’s promise of life in chapter 45. Baruch looks to the future, he will surpass all calamities.10 It may therefore be no coincidence that in the Septuagint, which rearranges the chapters of Jeremiah, the oracle for Baruch stands at the very end of the book, in LXX 51:31–35, just before the epilogue in chapter 52. The next book in the Greek manuscripts is the apocryphal book of Baruch. The placement of

8  The symmetry between chapters 1 and 45 is suggestive. Chapter 1 introduces the figure of Jeremiah as the main actor called by God, and 1:19 ends with the promise of protection. Similarly, the oracle in Jer 45 establishes Baruch as the recipient of the divine promise and also ends with the promise of protection. The chapters, linked in vocabulary, frame the book. The effect of chapter 45, which serves as a conclusion to the book, “is to make Baruch the last figure in the tradition . . . rather than Jeremiah.” Carroll, Jeremiah, 746; see already Pierre-Maurice Bogaert, “De Baruch à Jérémie: Les deux rédactions conservées du livre Jérémie,” in Le livre de Jérémie: Le prophète et son milieu, les oracles et leur transmission (ed. Pierre-Maurice Bogaert; Leuven: Leuven University Press, 1981), 168–73. 9  Cf. Jer 39:18; note also Jer 51:59–64, which is closely related to ch. 45. Gunther Wanke, Untersuchungen zur sogenannten Baruchschrift (BZAW 122; Berlin: de Gruyter, 1971), 140–43. 10  Those who defend the hypothesis of Baruch’s memoirs find in ch. 45 a deliberate attempt by the scribe to write himself into the Jeremianic tradition. See, for example, Artur Weiser, “Das Gotteswort für Baruch Jer. 45 und die sogenannte Baruchbiographie,” in Glaube und Geschichte im Alten Testament und andere ausgewählte Schriften (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1961), 321–29, who sees in Jer 45 Baruch’s “eigenhändige Unterschrift unter sein Werk” (at 329).

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Baruch’s oracle at the end of Greek Jeremiah makes for a smooth transition from Jeremiah to Baruch, his successor.11 To summarize, Baruch first appears in the book of Jeremiah, though his character remains sketchy and underdeveloped. His relationship with Jeremiah is one-sided, his role entirely subservient to the prophet, for whom he serves as the personal secretary and whom he represents while reading Jeremiah’s scroll before the king. In Baruch’s final appearance in the Hebrew Bible in Jer 45, the text hints at the possibility that Baruch will live beyond the calamities that have befallen Jerusalem and that he will carry on Jeremiah’s legacy. However, this promise, too, remains undeveloped in the book of Jeremiah. 3

The Books of Jeremiah and Second Baruch

Turning to the second phase in the friendship between Jeremiah and Baruch, we now move to 2 Baruch. Our comparative reading of the book of Jeremiah and 2 Baruch is organized around three aspects that are shared by and central to both books: first, the ways in which the message of each book and the personal lives of their protagonists are intertwined; second, the composite nature of the two books and the questions their literary composition raises with regard to literary coherence and textual meaning; and third, the significance of Deuteronomic thought for both Jeremiah and 2 Baruch which, while a major influence on the formation of both books that has often been acknowledged, is developed to rather different ends in the two books. 3.1 Message and Messenger Intertwined 2 Baruch takes the form of a prophetic book. It is deliberately written in the biblical idiom in an attempt to imitate the familiar forms and language of biblical prophecy. The dominant, though not the only reason to choose this form may be to lay claim to authority: the literary appearance of the book seeks to imply that, just as the biblical books are inspired, so is 2 Baruch. The very form of the apocalypse vouches for its authority.12 But the prophetic form also creates a sense of continuity. 2 Baruch presents itself as a sequel to the book of 11  J. Edward Wright, Baruch Ben Neriah: From Biblical Scribe to Apocalyptic Seer (Columbia: University of South Carolina Press, 2003), 36–39. 12  See George W. E. Nickelsburg, “Scripture in 1 Enoch and 1 Enoch as Scripture,” in Texts and Contexts: Biblical Texts in their Textual and Situational Contexts: Essays in Honor of Lars Hartmann (ed. Tord Fornberg and David Hellholm; Oslo: Scandinavian University Press, 1995), 333–54, who makes the same point for 1 Enoch.

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Jeremiah. The first verse, for example, combines a date formula well known from the opening of many prophetic books in the Bible, including the book of Jeremiah, with the prophetic word formula (“the word of the Lord was upon Baruch, son of Neriah”), just as we find it in Jer 1:4; 2:1; 7:1 and 11:1. 2 Baruch continues where biblical Jeremiah left off, and it fills in many details the reader will not find in the Bible. Just as 2 Baruch imitates the biblical book, so also its main character, Baruch, is modeled closely after the figure of Jeremiah.13 Jeremiah and Baruch are the principal characters through whose perspectives the national story of defeat and humiliation is told and around whom the books’ events unfold. Moreover, their personal lives are part and parcel of their respective prophetic messages. In the case of Jeremiah, the reader learns more about his life than about the life of any other prophet in the Hebrew Bible. The life of the prophet is closely tied to his message, one as tragic as the other. A good example comes early in the book, in chapter 4, where Jeremiah writes about the approaching war. In Jer 4:19–24 the prophet laments his anguish over the enemy that approaches on Jerusalem. He describes the oncoming war in cosmic proportions and even likens it to an un-doing of creation, or “de-creation.”14 Jeremiah’s so-called Confessions would be another example of how Jeremiah’s tragedy and that of Israel become one and the same.15 The situation is very similar in 2 Baruch. The reader learns a great deal about Baruch’s inner life—through his prayers, confessions, and his continuous dialogue with God. In 2 Bar. 35 the narrative is briefly interrupted by a particularly poignant lament, Baruch’s brief prayer about the fallen temple. 35:2 35:3

O that my eyes were springs and my eyelids a fountain of tears. For how shall I groan over Zion, and how shall I mourn over Jerusalem?

13  The figure of Baruch in 2 Baruch is an amalgam of several biblical antecedents, most prominently of Jeremiah (Baruch the prophet), Moses (Baruch the community leader and advocate of the Mosaic Torah), Ezekiel (Baruch the visionary), and Ezra (Baruch the religious leader); see Henze, Jewish Apocalypticism, 99–100; Mark F. Whitters, “Baruch as Ezra in 2 Baruch,” JBL 132 (2013): 569–84. 14  William L. Holladay, Jeremiah 1 (Hermeneia; Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1986), 1:164. Cf. 2 Bar. 3:7. 15  Robert P. Carroll, From Chaos to Covenant: Prophecy in the Book of Jeremiah (New York: Crossroad, 1981), 107–35; Kathleen M. O’Connor, The Confessions of Jeremiah: Their Interpretation and Role in Chapters 1–25 (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1988), 81–96.

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35:4 Because at this place where I am prostrate now, formerly high priests were offering holy sacrifices and were placing thereon incense of fragrant odors. 35:5 Now, however, our pride has been made into dust and the desire of our souls into sand. Baruch’s personal sorrow, his lament over his own inability to mourn adequately for the destruction of the temple, embodies the collective sorrow of the people of Israel, who can no longer bring sacrifices to God. Israel is cut off from communicating with the Divine. The tragedy of the scene is further amplified by the fact that the language of Baruch’s poem is taken from Jer 8:22– 23, the prophet’s well-known lament over the fate of his people. Baruch’s inner life is cast in language that mimics the sorrowful language of Jeremiah. 8:22 8:23

Is there no balm in Gilead? Is there no physician there? Why then has the health of my poor people Not been restored? O that my head were a spring of water, and my eyes a fountain of tears, so that I might weep day and night for the slain of my poor people!

Though greatly grieved at first and in a state of confusion, Baruch undergoes a remarkable transformation over the course of the apocalypse, not unlike that of Ezra in 4 Ezra.16 When Baruch first hears from God about the impending destruction of Jerusalem, he falls apart and asks God to take his life (3:2). But as the story unfolds, Baruch gradually becomes more composed. He realizes that he cannot change the divine intention. He becomes less rebellious and increasingly concerned with the future of the community. Baruch’s gradual transformation is what drives the book’s plot forward, but it has significant implications beyond that. In a sense, Baruch represents Israel, and the change 16  The gradual transformation of the figure of Ezra in 4 Ezra, with Vision 4 as the pivotal moment in the book, has been described compellingly by Michael E. Stone, Fourth Ezra (Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1990), 29, and, in greater detail, in his Ancient Judaism: New Visions and Views (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2011), 95–109; also Loren T. Stuckenbruck, “Ezra’s Vision of the Lady: The Form and Function of a Turning Point,” in Fourth Ezra and Second Baruch: Reconstruction after the Fall (ed. Matthias Henze et al.; Leiden: Brill, 2013), 137–50.

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the seer undergoes from hopelessness to confidence describes an ideal for the community, something to strive for. Baruch is a figure to emulate.17 A comparative reading with Jeremiah offers yet another interpretation. Baruch’s personal development from initial desperation to his more composed demeanor and his practical concerns for the well-being of the community is not unlike what we find in the composition of the book of Jeremiah. The oracles in the first twenty-five chapters of the biblical book are harsh and uncompromising. Jeremiah appears to be acting alone. He is desperate, forsaken among his enemies. In the second part of the book, Jeremiah’s concern shifts to the survival of the community, with all its internal struggles. Jeremiah calls on Israel to endure in spite of their suffering and promises that God has prepared a future for them.18 In a way, then, Baruch’s transformation in 2 Baruch mirrors the literary form of the book of Jeremiah. 3.2 The Composite Nature of the Texts and Textual Meaning Much like the book of Jeremiah, 2 Baruch is a literary composite. Its composite nature has not endeared it to its readers, to say the least. Throughout its modern reception history, 2 Baruch’s composition has been described as confused. The book has been accused of lacking a clear structure, and interpreters have complained that it offers its readers frustratingly little orientation. A significant part of the confusion has to do with the fact that 2 Baruch consists of multiple forms of literature. It begins with a prose section, or narrative frame (1:1–9:1). Then there is the revelatory dialogue between God and Baruch that runs through the book and gives it its basic shape (13:1–20:6; 22:1–30:5; and 48:26–52:8). The prayers of Baruch are form-critically distinct from the revelatory dialogue (10:1–12:5; 21:1–26; 35:1–5; 38:1–4; 48:1–25; and 54:1–22). There are also Baruch’s three public speeches (31:1–34:1; 44:1–47:2; and 77:1–17), two symbolic dream visions (36:1–37:1; 53:1–12), Remiel’s lengthy angelic speech (55:3– 76:5), and Baruch’s epistle to the exiles that concludes the book (78:1–87:1).

17  In his Sociology of Religion first published in 1922, Max Weber describes different kinds of prophets, among them what he calls the “ethical prophet.” This prophet, according to Weber, “may be an exemplary man who, by his personal example, demonstrates to others the way to religious salvation.” Max Weber, Sociology of Religion (Boston: Beacon Press, 1993), 55. Also Hindy Najman, “How Should We Contextualize Pseudepigraphy? Imitation and Emulation in 4 Ezra,” in Flores Florentino: Dead Sea Scrolls and Other Early Jewish Studies in Honour of Florentino García Martínez (ed. Antony Hilhorst, et al.; Leiden: Brill, 2007), 529–36. 18  Georg Fischer, “Jeremiah/Book of Jeremiah,” RPP 6: 670–76, with further bibliography.

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What does the existence of multiple forms of literature in the same book mean for our interpretation of the book? For the literary critics who worked both on Jeremiah and on 2 Baruch about a century ago, there was no doubt that different literary genres pointed to the existence of multiple authors. Writing in 1896, Robert H. Charles observed that it is unlikely that the different parts that make up 2 Baruch stem from the same pen.19 Charles and his colleagues were quick to reach for the scissors and postulate multiple hypothetical sources, an approach now widely dismissed. Writing roughly at the same time, Bernhard Duhm and Sigmund Mowinckel developed a very similar source-critical approach for the book of Jeremiah.20 Mowinckel in particular recognized the co-existence of different kinds of materials, which he took to imply that the book is a collection of multiple sources, or “Quellen” (A, B, C, and D), for each of which he posited a redactor (RA, RB, RC, and RD). In the more recent debate on Jeremiah, scholars have moved away from the question of authorship. Rather than being concerned with hypothetical sources and the complicated question of the redactional reworking of the source materials, the attention has shifted to the coexistence and function of the multiple literary forms of expression within the same book. A particularly helpful example is the attempt to see Jeremiah’s prose sermons as a way of counter-balancing the book’s poetry, whose rhetoric can be harsh and uncompromising.21 The same move away from the question of authorship to the question of the function of different literary genres within the same book can prove helpful for 2 Baruch as well. In 2 Baruch as we have it, different forms of literary expression are used effectively in different parts of the book and for different reasons. The narrative frame, for example, sets up the scene and introduces the book’s main players. The revelatory dialogue between God and Baruch addresses the book’s most difficult and controversial issues, questions regarding God’s former promises, the validity of the covenant, and the morality of God’s actions. Baruch’s prayers give voice to Israel’s immense sadness, and so on. In other words, rather than finding in the existence of multiple genres an obstacle to our reading that needs to be removed with the surgical precision of the literary critic, we can recognize that different genres fulfill different functions in the book, serve as internal boundary markers and literary signposts for the reader, and add to the gradual unfolding of the book’s apocalyptic program.

19  Robert H. Charles, The Apocalypse of Baruch: Translated From the Syriac (London: Adam and Charles Black, 1896), liii–lxv. 20  Duhm wrote in 1903, and Mowinckel in 1914; see note 6 above. 21  Carroll, Jeremiah, 55–82.

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3.3 Deuteronomic Influence in Jeremiah and 2 Baruch Much of the scholarly debate on Jeremiah during the twentieth century focused on the influence of Deuteronomic thought on the prophetic book. Many scholars are in agreement that an earlier form of the book went through a phase of Deuteronomic editing and expansion.22 The prose oracles, for example, are replete with Deuteronomic phraseology. The Deuteronomic reworking and framing of the earlier prophetic materials has led to the formation of the book as we have it today, and it imposed a particular interpretation of the events. The Babylonian sacking of Jerusalem is seen to be the result of human sin, and the tragedy is the consequence of Israel’s failure to listen to God. As an example, note the Deuteronomic language in Jer 3:9–10. Jeremiah argues that Judah did not learn from the example of her sister Israel, whom the Lord also divorced for her infidelity. “Because she took her whoredom so lightly, she polluted the land, committing adultery with stone and tree. Yet for all this, her false sister Judah did not return to me with her whole heart, but only in pretense, says the LORD.” Jeremiah proclaims over and over again that the sacking of Jerusalem was an act of divine punishment for the impurity of worship (e.g., Jer 7:1–8:3; 11:1–13; 16:10–13; 19:3–13). God is therefore fully justified in allowing the Babylonians to reduce Jerusalem to ashes. In 2 Baruch we find much of the same interpretation of Jerusalem’s destruction. Baruch makes clear that Israel’s enemy acted merely as an instrument of God, so that the enemy invasion was a form of divine judgment (2 Bar. 5:2; 14:8; 48:32, 39). Underlying this as well as Jeremiah’s understanding of Israel’s defeat is the Deuteronomic pattern of sin, judgment, and punishment.23 2 Baruch applies

22  Winfried Thiel, Die deuteronomistische Redaktion von Jeremiah 1–25 (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1973), and Die deuteronomistische Redaktion von Jeremiah 26–45: Mit einer Gesamtbeurteilung der deuteronomistischen Redaktion des Buches Jeremia (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1981). Of the many critiques and modifications, see Konrad Schmid, Buchgestalt des Jeremiabuches: Untersuchungen zur Redaktions- und Rezeptionsgeschichte von Jer 30–33 im Kontext des Buches (NeukirchenVluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1996), 327–54; Christl Maier, Jeremia als Lehrer der Tora: Soziale Gebote des Deuteronomiums in Fortschreibung des Jeremiabuches (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2002), 14–40; and Carolyn J. Sharp, Prophecy and Ideology in Jeremiah: Struggles for Authority in the Deutero-Jeremianic Prose (London: T&T Clark, 2003), 13–39. 23  Thiel, Die deuteronomistische Redaktion von Jeremiah 26–45, 107–12; George W. E. Nickelsburg, “Torah and the Deuteronomic Scheme in the Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha: Variations on a Theme and Some Noteworthy Examples of its Absence,” in Das Gesetz im frühen Judentum und im Neuen Testament: Festschrift für Christoph Burchard zum

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this Deuteronomic pattern with a rigor not found in other apocalypses and makes it part of its apocalyptic program. The Deuteronomic pattern is foundational to both Jeremiah and 2 Baruch, as both see in the enemy invasion an act of divine punishment. But there are also significant differences in the application of the Deuteronomic pattern. Central to Jeremiah is the search for the exact cause of God’s anger. Time and again Jeremiah repeats that Israel has broken the covenant by worshipping foreign gods. 2 Baruch is less troubled by the issue of idolatry but struggles with the question of the morality of God’s actions: was God justified in having Jerusalem destroyed by a heathen nation? How about the promises to Israel, the righteousness of the patriarchs? In the end 2 Baruch comes to the conclusion that the fault lies exclusively with Israel, not with God. The book appeals to the remnant community at the outskirts of Jerusalem to prepare for the future, the eschatological future. The entire apocalyptic program for the post-70 community is predicated on trust in the Mosaic Torah, another feature we do not find to the same extent in other apocalypses—or in Jeremiah, for that matter.24 Like the Sages of his time, Baruch finds hope and guidance in the Torah. And so he sends the elders of the people out with the command, “instruct the people, because this is our work, for when you teach them you will quicken them” (2 Bar. 45:1–2). 4

Jeremiah and Baruch: The Syriac Manuscript Transmission

The discussion of the third phase of the friendship between Jeremiah and Baruch and the relationship of the writings attributed to these figures is based on a study of the manuscripts that contain parts or the assumed whole of the text of 2 Baruch. Hence, we move from a literary investigation to an interpretative study of the history of the engagement with the text, in the form of the material contexts of the text in Syriac manuscripts.25 How has this transmission 75. Geburtstag (ed. Dieter Sänger and Matthias Konradt; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2006), 222–35. 24  But see Maier, Jeremia als Lehrer der Tora, 282–352. 25  This paper is not addressing the issue of the “original provenance” of the Epistle of Baruch, nor the use of the Syriac manuscripts as text witnesses to the assumed early text. Rather, this paper is focusing solely on its circulation in Syriac manuscripts as a source to the interpretation and engagement with the Epistle of Baruch among Syriac Christians in the period after the 6th century. For discussions of the original provenance and the different versions of the Epistle of Baruch, as well as the relationship between 2 Baruch and the Epistle, cf. Charles, Apocalypse of Baruch, xxii–xxx, Bogaert, Apocalypse Syriaque de

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process affected the discourses on Jeremiah and Baruch, their relationship, and the textual units associated with them? The Transmission History of 2 Baruch and the Epistle of Baruch in Extant Manuscripts Apart from a Greek 4th century fragment and an 11th century Arabic codex,26 2 Baruch survives only in Syriac manuscripts. Judging from the extant material remains, it might even be fair to say that 2 Baruch was probably transmitted first and foremost among Syriac Christians. In the Syriac context, the writing referred to as “The apocalypse of Baruch son of Neriah, which has been translated from Greek to Syriac” (i.e., 2 Baruch) is part of the oldest extant, complete Syriac Peshiṭta Old Testament codex, the 7th century Codex Ambrosianus.27 The Codex Ambrosianus contains the only comprehensive copy of 2 Baruch that is known to us, comprising chapters 1–87. Excerpts from 2 Baruch are also recorded as scriptural lections in four surviving 4.1

Baruch I, 67–78, Frederick J. Murphy, The Structure and Meaning of Second Baruch (SBLDS 78; Atlanta, Georgia: Scholars Press, 1985), Mark Whitters, The Epistle of Baruch: A Study of Form and Message (JSPSup 42; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2003), 35–65, and Henze, Jewish Apocalypticism in Late First Century Israel, 369. For a critical examination of the use of the manuscripts containing the whole or excerpted parts of the text as witnesses to the assumed early Epistle, cf. Liv Ingeborg Lied, “Between ‘Text Witness’ and ‘Text on the Page’: Trajectories in the History of Editing of the Epistle of Baruch,” in Snapshots of Evolving Traditions: Jewish and Christian Manuscript Cultures, Textual Fluidity, and New Philology (ed. Liv Ingeborg Lied and Hugo Lundhaug; TUGAL 125; Berlin: De Gruyter, forthcoming). 26  Cf. P. Oxy 3 403, first published by Bernhard P. Grenfell and Arthur S. Hunt (“Apocalypse of Baruch, XII–XIV,” in The Oxyrhynchus Papyri. Part III. Edited with Translations and Notes [London, Egypt Exploration Fund, 1903], 3–7), and Mt. Sinai Arabic codex 589 (Frederik Leemhuis, Albertus F. J. Klijn, and G. J. H. van Gelder, The Arabic Text of the Apocalypse of Baruch: Edited and Translated with a Parallel Translation of the Syriac Text [Leiden: Brill, 1986]). 27  B 21 Inf and bis Inf of the Ambrosian Library in Milan. The use of the term “complete” reflects the presentation of the codex in the title on folio 1v, recorded by those who were involved in copying it. The title presents the codex as a pandect (pndqtys), i.e., a fullbible codex, and further states that the codex contains “the whole old [testament]” (ktb’ dpndqtys d‘tyqt’ kwlh). For the contents and order of books in this codex, cf. Sebastian P. Brock, The Bible in the Syriac Tradition (Gorgias Handbooks 7; Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias, 2006), 43, 116; and Philip Michael Forness, “Narrating History Through the Bible in Late Antiquity: A Reading Community for the Syriac Peshiṭta Old Testament Manuscript in Milan (Ambrosian Library, B. 21 Inf),” Le Muséon 127 (2014): 41–76.

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medieval lectionary manuscripts.28 For the larger part of 2 Baruch, i.e., chapters 1–77, this is all that has survived. The situation is different and much more complex when we turn to the text contained in the last ten chapters of 2 Baruch, 2 Bar. 78–87. As mentioned in the introduction, these chapters contain an epistle, commonly referred to as the Epistle of Baruch.29 It should be noted that the Codex Ambrosianus is the only extant Syriac manuscript that preserves the Epistle attached to the rest of 2 Baruch. In this codex, the Epistle is called “The epistle of Baruch son of Neriah which he wrote to the nine and a half tribes” (f. 265v).30 However, the Ambrosianus in fact records the Epistle twice: the Epistle survives both attached to and detached from 2 Baruch in this particular codex—in two contexts, in two text types,31 under two different names.32 Apparently the detached Epistle circulated widely. It survives today in fortyseven known Syriac manuscripts.33 Although drawing conclusions from the 28  Add 14686 and Add 14687 of the British Library, Dayr al-Suryan Ms 33, and Ms 77 of the Abraham Konat Collection. 29  From here on called “the Epistle”. 30  Note that the Arabic codex, which contains 2 Bar. 3:2–25:3 and 29:4–87:1, includes the Epistle attached to 2 Baruch. It is not clear whether the Epistle is copied as an independent book, or as a subsection of 2 Baruch in this codex. The layout of the codex and its use of unit demarcation markers allow for both interpretations. The Arabic codex will not be further discussed in this essay. 31  Although the narrative contents of the attached and detached Epistles are very similar, it has been held ever since the first editions of the text appeared in the late 19th century that the attached and detached Epistles represent two “text types” (Charles, Apocalypse of Baruch, xxiv–xxv). For a convenient overview of the variance between the two types, cf. Donald M. Walter et al. (eds. and transl.), Lamentations, Prayer of Jeremiah, Epistle of Jeremiah and Epistles of Baruch According to the Syriac Peshiṭta with an English Translation (Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias, 2013), xli–xlvii. 32  For the sake of convenience, we will refer to these two types of the Epistle as “the attached Epistle” and “the detached Epistle.” The detached Epistle is of course not referred to as such because it is devoid of context, but because it is detached from 2 Baruch, the point of reference is the present article. 33  The Leiden list of Peshiṭta Old Testament manuscripts counts thirty eight manuscripts (List of Old Testament Peshiṭta Manuscripts [Preliminary Issue] [ed. The Peshiṭta Institute, Leiden University; Leiden: Brill, 1961]). The survey of the Peshiṭta Institute Communication (VT) adds two manuscripts, designated Jerusalem 42 and Cambridge Dd 7.13, found in the 1968 Fourth Supplement and in the 1977 Fifth Supplement. An unpublished list of lectionary manuscripts kept at and generously shared by the Peshiṭta Institute adds five manuscripts (Add 14485, 14486, Add 14687. In addition, a manuscripts found in the Church of

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pure amount of extant manuscripts can of course be misleading, this number still suggests that the Epistle primarily led a life detached from 2 Baruch. What categories of Syriac manuscripts contain the Epistle? The detached Epistle appears in biblical, Peshiṭta, manuscripts of various sorts. The Epistle is part of Old Testament pandects and collections of prophetic books, as well as codices containing biblical and other books. The oldest known manuscript dates to the 6th century.34 After the 17th century, we sometimes find the Epistle in collections of Apocrypha.35 In addition, excerpts from the Epistle appear in five surviving lectionary manuscripts dating from the 9th to the 17th century, as well as in masore (10th–13th century).36 The fact that the Epistle is found in masore and lectionaries suggests that not only was the Epistle part of biblical manuscripts, it was also used and engaged with as a biblical book.

St George in Bartella, dated 1466, and Ms 2 of the Monastery of St Mark. Thanks are due to Konrad Jenner and Bas ter Haar Romeny). Finally, the Dayr al-Suryan Ms 14, a thirteenth century masora, also includes an excerpt from the Epistle (Sebastian P. Brock and Lucas van Rompay, Catalogue of Syriac Manuscripts and Fragments in the Library of Deir al-Surian, Wadi al-Naturn (Egypt) [OLA; Leuven: Peeters, 2014], 64). 34  Add 17105 of the British Library. 35  After the 10th–12th centuries, there is a growing tendency to exclude the Epistle from Syriac biblical codices, and from the 17th century onwards we sometimes find the Epistle in collections of Apocrypha. However, judging from the manuscripts that have come down to us, this tendency is not dominant at any point. Apparently, the Epistle has been treated both as a part of the Old Testament proper and as Apocrypha in Syriac traditions. Some Bible manuscripts would include it, others would not. 36   Masore are codices containing sample texts (excerpts, “words and readings”) from the Old and New Testaments, and sometimes from patristic writings. The biblical excerpts commonly appear in the order of the biblical books from which they are excerpted. Masore are philological, grammatical, and orthographical collections with the educational purpose of promoting correct pronunciation of words and avoiding grammatical misunderstandings. Cf. Marila M. Mango, “The Production of Syriac Manuscripts, 400–700 ad,” in Scritture, libri e testi nelle aree provinciali di Bisanzio (eds. Guglielmo Cavallo, Giuseppe de Gregorio, and Marilena Maniaci; Biblioteca del Centro per il collegamento degli studi medievali e umanistici nell’Università di Perugia 5; Spoleto: Centro italiano di studi sull’alto Medioevo, 1991), 161–79; Andreas K. Juckel, “The ‘Syriac Masora’ and the New Testament Peshiṭta,” in The Peshiṭta: Its Use in Literature and Liturgy: Papers Read at the Third Peshiṭta Sumposium (ed. Bas ter Haar Romeny; Monographs of the Peshiṭta Institute Leiden 15; Leiden: Brill, 2006), 107–21.

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Identifications and Collocations in Masore and Biblical Manuscripts

In order to find out how Syriac Christians understood the detached Epistle, it is helpful to explore how it is identified and where it is located in the codices containing it. In Syriac manuscripts, textual entities, e.g. the books of a biblical manuscript or a scriptural lection in a lectionary manuscript, are demarcated and identified as discrete units by titles at the beginning and subscript titles at the end of the text of the units. These title annotations most commonly appear in the text columns; they are written in red ink; and they may be accompanied by decorative graphemes and the skipping of a line. In addition, in some codices headings (running titles) in the upper margins at the first and/or the last folio of a quire will also identify the text unit appearing in the columns of the given page. These paratextual features of the manuscripts are relevant to the present study of the ongoing interpretation of the relationship between Jeremiah and Baruch and the writings associated with them because these features are extant traces of the interpretational activity of those who produced and engaged with the manuscripts. Paratextual elements such as titles are elements in a manuscript that communicate between text and reader. As such they are sources to the cultural identifications of text entities framing the reading of the text.37 Hence, the present study of the titles and the title annotation systems in the relevant Syriac manuscripts may provide a glimpse into Syriac Christians’ identification and interpretation of a given book. Further, the titles can fruitfully be studied in context of the order and collocation of text units in the manuscripts. The order and collocation of units may give us additional insight into shared expectations of books that were assumed to belong together. Let us, once more, start with the Codex Ambrosianus. In this codex the detached Epistle bears the title “The First Epistle of Baruch the Scribe, which he sent from the midst of Jerusalem to Babylon” (f. 176v). The Ambrosianus version of the title is particularly elaborate, and there is variation in the exact wording both across manuscripts and within a single manuscript. However, the large majority of extant Syriac biblical codices include three main elements in their identification of the detached Epistle. It is generally described as the “first epistle” (ʾgrtʾ qdmytʾ), it is identified with “Baruch” (brwk) who is

37  Cf. Gérard Genette, Paratexts: Thresholds of Interpretation (trans. Jane E. Lewin; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), 2.

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most often described as “the scribe” (sprʾ), and the Epistle is often identified as the epistle “which was sent from Jerusalem to Babylon” (dšdr mn ʾwršlm lbbl).38 Hence, although the titles of the Epistle are not uniform, which is not to be expected in Syriac manuscripts,39 we should note that the titles of the detached Epistle are systematically different than the title of the attached Epistle, quoted above.40 They highlight Baruch’s office as scribe rather than his genealogy, and they stress the geographic locations of the receiving community rather than the tribal identity of the recipients, as well as the place of this particular epistle in a list of multiple epistles: this is “The First Epistle”. 5.1 “The First Epistle” In order to understand the ascription “The First Epistle” a look at the order and collocation of text units in Syriac manuscripts is needed. The Epistle is called “The First Epistle” because it is commonly recorded together with another epistle ascribed to Baruch, identified as “The Second Epistle of Baruch” (ʾgrtʾ dtrtyn dbrwk). This is the Peshiṭta identification of 1 Baruch, a book that is of course also well-known from Greek, Latin, and other ancient language traditions. Further, in Syriac masore and biblical manuscripts the two Baruch epistles are commonly grouped together with a third epistle, The Epistle of Jeremiah. These three epistles were regularly copied together and were apparently assumed to belong together. Typically, the title of each of the three epistles will appear in the columns at the beginning of the text, but the collocation of the three epistles may sometimes also result in a second layer of identification in the manuscripts: the three epistles appear as subunits of a larger unit called “The Epistles of Jeremiah and of Baruch” (ʾgrtʾ dʾrmyʾ wdbrwk).41

38  The 6th century biblical manuscript, Add 17105, for instance, identifies it as “The Epistle of Baruch the Scribe which he sent from Jerusalem to Babylon” (f. 116r) in the title, dropping “first,” but then refers to it as the “First Epistle of Baruch the Scribe” in the subscript title (f. 121r). Cf. further, e.g., Add 12172, f. 192v, Egerton 704, f. 373r, and Add 14684, f. 24r which simply reads, “First Epistle of Baruch” (Cf. Add 14482, f. 47r), a common heading found in the masore. Cf. further, Sven Dedering, “Epistle of Baruch” (Unpublished manuscript, no pages [ms page 20]). 39  Syriac manuscripts may often identify text units by long and short titles (e.g., titles, subscript titles, headings in top margins), and also use different title identifications for the same text unit. 40  Cf. Dedering, “Epistle of Baruch,” no pages [ms page 20]. Note, however, the intriguing variant in Add 12178, a masora from the 9th–10th century, referring to the Epistle as “The First Epistle of Baruch bar Neriah” (f. 111v). 41  Cf., e.g., Codex Ambrosianus, f. 176r.

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However, this tripartite unit is most commonly not an independent unit in masore and biblical manuscripts.42 In most cases it is either an integral part of, or appended to a Jeremianic corpus.43 Accordingly, in some manuscripts we find a third layer of paratextual identification. In the upper margin of the folios containing Jeremiah, Lamentations, and the three epistles of Jeremiah and of Baruch, we recurrently find the heading “Jeremiah,” alternatively “Jeremiah, the prophet,” identifying and naming the Jeremianic writings as a corpus.44 Likewise, at the end of the Jeremianic corpus, after the three epistles, some manuscripts record a general end title, e.g., “The end of the writing of Jeremiah, the prophet,” hence embracing all the Jeremianic books.45 5.2 “Baruch the Scribe” and “from Jerusalem to Babylon” This order and location of text units in biblical codices also make sense of the remaining aspects of the title of the detached Epistle: the references to “Baruch the Scribe” and the reference to the sending of the Epistle from Jerusalem to Babylon. As pointed out above, Baruch is of course widely known as the prophet Jeremiah’s scribe. When Syriac manuscripts record the Epistle together with two other epistles46 and locate these epistles after two other books ascribed to Jeremiah but traditionally held to be dictated by Jeremiah to Baruch, it certainly makes sense that the detached Epistle invokes Baruch in his role as the scribe.

42  When the three epistles are copied in codices containing “Apocrypha,” they are recorded independently (cf. e.g, Ms 90 in the German State Library, and Rydlands Syr Ms 3). 43  The three epistles are regularly situated after Jeremiah and Lamentations. Some of these manuscripts treat the three epistles as integral to a Jeremianic corpus of texts, e.g., by locating the subscript title of Jeremiah (only) after the three epistles, other manuscripts place them after Jeremiah and Lamentations but single them out as a unit, alternatively a sub-unit, by placing, e.g., the subscript title of Jeremiah before the copy of the epistles. There is also an element of scholarly interpretation involved in deciding the relationship between these texts in Syriac codices since the use of subscript titles are not uniform. Further, features such as indentions, blank spaces and decorations, which are regularly used to demarcate text units, may vary from codex to codex, as well as within a single codex. 44  Headings typically appear at the first and/or last folio of a quire. These headings in the upper margins served, for instance, as an aid to binders. Alternatively, if they were entered by later readers, they could have functioned as reading aids. 45  Cf. BnF Ms Syr 64, f. 77r and Add 14684, f. 24r–25r. 46  An epistle is a text scripted as a written message, recorded by a scribe.

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Also the third aspect of the title, the focus on the geographical location of the sender and recipients, makes sense in the context of the Jeremianic corpus. The detached Epistle is “sent from Jerusalem to Babylon.”47 The focus on Babylon is evident in both the Second Epistle and in the Epistle of Jeremiah, as well as in Jeremiah proper, e.g., in Jer 29 where it is suggested that an epistle should be sent from Jerusalem to the exiles in Babylon. Summing up, in the surviving Syriac manuscript material, the Epistle of Baruch is found attached to 2 Baruch only once. The detached Epistle, on the other hand, appears in forty-seven known manuscripts. In biblical codices this Epistle is located after Jeremiah and Lamentations, as an integral part or as a sub-unit of a Jeremianic corpus. All these codices refer to the Epistle by another title than the attached Epistle. This title identifies the Epistle with the context in which it is in fact found in Syriac manuscripts: it is identified by its relation to another Epistle ascribed to Baruch in the same group of writings (i.e., the Second Epistle of Baruch), and it identifies Baruch as Jeremiah’s scribe, sending letters to Babylon. As pointed out above, we find three layers of identification and a double ascription to figures in Syriac biblical manuscripts. Hence, at least Baruch is still explicitly named. But in contrast to the identification of Baruch as the sole receiver of revelation in 2 Baruch and by reference to his own genealogy in the attached Epistle, Baruch’s identity in the detached Epistle is primarily relational—he is once again no more than Jeremiah’s scribe. 6

Identification and Interpretation in Lectionary Manuscripts

Of special interest to a study of the changing relationship between Jeremiah and Baruch and the writings associated with them is the identification of lections from the Epistle in Syriac lectionary manuscripts. So far we have presented a retrospective, bird eye’s view of the transmission history of the Epistle and its place within a Jeremianic corpus. However, the large majority of the medieval Syriac Christian readers who engaged with the Epistle in one context or the other would probably not share such a global perspective. And since we know that most Syriac Christians would not have engaged with manuscript artifacts very often, we cannot expect that they had detailed knowledge of the 47  Note the intriguing change made in the superscript of the Syriac, Peshiṭta version of the Second Epistle (The Book of Baruch). This text is now an Epistle that Baruch wrote to Babylon (lbbl), not in Babylon (bbbl), as other versions would have it (Cf. e.g. f. 177v of the Codex Ambrosianus; BnF Ms Syr 341, f. 160r).

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identification of given text units in biblical manuscripts. That knowledge would in all likelihood have been reserved for the few. Rather, it is more likely that their most frequent engagement with the Epistle was through hearing excerpts read as scriptural lections in worship contexts. Hence, if we want to know how the Epistle was represented in liturgical contexts and thus get a glimpse into some likely perceptions of the identity of the Epistle among those who in fact heard them read, the lectionary manuscripts are our best sources. As pointed out above, five surviving lectionary manuscripts contain lections from the Epistle. These manuscripts contain variants of the same passage, commonly—but imprecisely48—identified as 2 Bar. 85:1–15.49 It is likely, thus, that this particular passage circulated as a traditional liturgical reading, most commonly read on days of the commemoration of saints, the just, or the deceased. Two issues are important in the present context. First, all the excerpts are copies of the text type found in the detached Epistle. In other words, it is the detached Epistle, not the attached Epistle, that is copied and circulated as a liturgical reading. And second, with the exception of Add 14486, which identifies one of its two applications of the passage as “From the Epistle of Baruch,”50 all the preserved manuscripts identify these lections as “From Jeremiah” (mn ʾrmyʾ), not as a reading from a book of Baruch. This suggests that to those who copied or supervised the copying of the lectionaries, and to those who later read or heard the lections read in worship contexts, these lections were probably first and foremost associated with Jeremiah. They might of course have known, for instance by engagement with the book in biblical manuscripts, that the lection came from the Epistle and interpreted the identification as a reference to the Jeremianic corpus. But if they did not know precisely which book the lection was excerpted from, they 48  The chapter numbers of the detached Epistle are adopted from the chapter enumeration of the attached Epistle and reflect the location and context of the Epistle as an integral part of 2 Baruch. This practice goes back to the publication of Antonio Ceriani’s facsimile edition of the Codex Ambrosianus (Translation Syra Pescitto Veteris Testamenti ex codice Ambrosiano, sec. fere VI photolitographice edita [2 vols; Milan: Bibliotheca Abrosianae Mediolani, 1876 and 1883]) but does not take into consideration that the detached Epistle appears as a unit independent of 2 Baruch in most extant Syriac manuscripts. Cf. Lied, “Between ‘Text Witness’ and ‘Text on the Page.’ ” 49  Add 14486–87 contains 2 Bar. 85:1–3, and 85:1–3+ 8–15. Add 14687 contains 85:1–3+ 8–15. Add 14485 contains 85:8–15. The Bartella manuscript and Monastery of St Mark Ms 2 include 85:1–7. Add 14485 (f. 119v–120r) also contains a lection from 83:8–23, identifying it as “From Jeremiah.” 50  Add 14486 identifies a lection from 2 Bar. 85:1–3 as “From the Epistle of Baruch” and another lection, 85:1–3+ 8–15 as “From Jeremiah the Prophet.”

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may also have imagined that they were listening to a lection from the book of Jeremiah proper, or alternatively that the lection they heard were the words of the figure Jeremiah, or associated with Jeremiah’s office as prophet. In other words, there is due reason to believe that many listeners would have taken the identification of the text at face value in the sense that they would have associated the lection and its content with Jeremiah, not with Baruch. We know, for example, that this holds true for the West Syriac bishop Dionysius Bar Shalibi. Bar Shalibi refers explicitly to the sentence we know as 2 Bar. 85.3 as “From Jeremiah” in his Treatise against the Melchites.51 7

Jeremiah and Baruch—Figures and Books

This brief look at the third phase of the friendship between Jeremiah and Baruch has shown that in the Syriac context of transmission and interpretation, the relationship of the figures and the compositions associated with them was given yet another twist. Whereas it still holds true that the Epistle of Baruch circulated as an integral part of 2 Baruch, the Epistle first and foremost lived a life detached from 2 Baruch. In the surviving masore and biblical manuscripts, the Epistle is copied as either an integral part or as a sub-unit of the Jeremianic corpus. Furthermore, a study of the surviving lectionary manuscripts shows that excerpted lections from the Epistle were commonly identified with the prophet Jeremiah and the writings associated with his name. This identification might, first, indicate that the association of the Epistle with the Jeremianic corpus was indeed strong, to the extent that a reference to the name Baruch was no longer needed. Second, the explicit identification of the lections as “From Jeremiah” probably affected the way those who attended service interpreted what they heard. It is likely that they would ascribe the textual contents of the Epistle to Jeremiah and hence associate the lection with a Jeremianic storyline, voice and discourse. In other words, they would not identify it with the figure of Baruch, and they would certainly not interpret it in context of the storyline of 2 Baruch. This identification may also have influenced the status ascribed to the lection, to the composition it was excerpted from, and to the figure. It is possible that the sense of familiarity and authority of the reading might have grown 51  Alphonse Mingana, Woodbroke Studies: Christian Documents in Syriac, Arabic, and Garshuni, Edited and Translated with a Critical Apparatus (vol. 1; Cambridge: W. Heffer & Sons Limited, 1927), 51, and 51 n. 8. Cf. further Lied, “Between ‘Text Witness’ and ‘Text on the Page.’ ”

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when it was ascribed to Jeremiah. Lectionary manuscripts show that lections from Jeremiah are among the most frequently read passages in Syriac liturgy. Lections from books of Baruch, on the other hand, are relatively infrequent. Lections from books of Baruch that are explicitly identified as such are even rarer.52 And the more seldom the name Baruch was heard in worship contexts, the less familiar and authoritative the figure. Hence, in this third phase of the relationship between the figures, Baruch is again found in a subordinate role vis-à-vis Jeremiah. The title and location of the Epistle in Syriac codices suggest that he is once more primarily identified as the scribe of the great prophet writing letters to the tribes in Babylon. He is no longer identified by reference to his own genealogy or his own revelatory functions, as he is in the context of 2 Baruch. In masore and biblical manuscripts, Syriac Christians gathered all the writings associated with Baruch’s name under the rubric of Jeremiah’s scriptures. In lectionary manuscripts and in the worship contexts where these service books were applied, the association with Baruch is generally muted. The words of the Epistle were now heard and probably perceived of as the words of Jeremiah. 8

Conclusion

In this essay we have traced the changes in the relationship between Jeremiah and Baruch and the books associated with them. We started with a close reading of the texts and approached the texts as exegetes in the conventional sense. It became clear, however, that this approach, while a necessary first step, could not tell us the whole story of the history of their friendship. We needed to broaden our investigation and also take into consideration the transmission history of 2 Baruch. Text units such as 2 Baruch and the Epistle of Baruch were not simply copied and transmitted passively, they were re-contextualized, regrouped, and re-identified in the Syriac tradition of transmission. This new categorization of the texts also had an immediate impact on the relationship between Jeremiah and Baruch. 52  We are only aware of six instances of explicit references to Baruch in titles in lectionary manuscripts (Add 14686, Add 14687, of the British Library, Dayr al-Suryan Ms 33, and Ms 77 of the Abraham Konat Collection). With the exception of one of the lections in Add 14486 noted above, these references are all references to lections from 2 Baruch. Lections from 1 Baruch are identified as “From Jeremiah” or “From the Prophecy of Jeremiah” (e.g. Add 12139). There may be more references unknown to us, but there is no doubt that the frequency is low.

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The friendship between Jeremiah and Baruch went through three phases. Jeremiah is the dominant character in the biblical book of Jeremiah. Baruch then takes over and becomes the protagonist in 2 Baruch. Throughout the transmission history of the Syriac apocalypse and its independently circulating detached parts, Baruch regresses and becomes the scribe again. We might speak of the victory of the “biblical cast” of roles, with Jeremiah asserting his dominant place. Baruch’s and Jeremiah’s writings—1 Baruch, the Epistle of Baruch as it was transmitted independently, and the Epistle of Jeremiah— all came to be gathered under the umbrella of, and were subsumed into a Jeremianic corpus of books. Thus, on the one hand, the writings that are collected in the Jeremiah corpus in the Peshiṭta are all penned by Baruch the scribe. In this sense Baruch might be seen as the unifying character of the corpus. On the other hand, though, this comes at a certain price: he reverts to and assumes again the scribal role in which we first encountered him in the Bible. His independent role vanishes in the transmission history of his texts, and he once again retreats into the shadow of the prophet Jeremiah. The alternative cast and storyline of 2 Baruch become merely a historical parenthesis.

Chapter 31

The Reception of a Reception: The Influence of 1 Baruch on the Structure of 5 Ezra. A Response to Matthias Henze and Liv Ingeborg Lied Veronika Hirschberger First Baruch is part of the corpus of Jeremianic scripture, and in the time of the Greek Church fathers its authorship was sometimes attributed to Jeremiah.1 Edward J. Wright supposes that 1 Baruch “was not known separately as the Book of Baruch until as late as the eighth century ce in the Latin Church.”2 While it was presumed for a long time that 1 Baruch consists of originally independent parts that were gradually combined,3 Odil Hannes Steck argues that the whole text should be understood as carefully arranged, completely coherent and written down from the beginning in its entirety.4 Steck also laments how little scholarly attention is devoted to 1 Baruch,5 which in his estimation might stem from the lack of originality with which the text is accused. According to 1  Edward J. Wright, Baruch Ben Neriah: From Biblical Scribe to Apocalyptic Seer (Columbia: University of South Carolina Press, 2003), 47. 2  Wright, Baruch Ben Neriah, 47. 3  See Wright, Baruch Ben Neriah, 46; Antonius H. J. Gunneweg, Das Buch Baruch (JSHRZ 3,2; Gütersloh: Verlagshaus Gerd Mohn, 1975), 168; Josef Schreiner, Baruch (NEB 14; Würzburg: Echter Verlag, 1986), 45. Carey A. Moore mentions the possibility that single parts could come from the same author (except 3:9–4:4 and 5:5–9) (Carey A. Moore, Daniel, Esther and Jeremiah: The Additions: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary [AB 44; Garden City: Doubleday, 1977], 260). Three original parts is the view favored by Rüdiger Feuerstein in Das Buch Baruch: Studien zur Textgestalt und Auslegungsgeschichte (Frankfurt am Main: Lang, 1997), 353. 4  Odil Hannes Steck, Das Buch Baruch (ATD 5; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck und Ruprecht, 1998), 18. This is supported by Ivo Meyer, “Das Buch Baruch,” in Einleitung in das Alte Testament (ed. Erich Zenger et al.; 8th ed.; Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 2012), 585–91 at 590. 5  Although this statement was made in 1998, it is still true today: The overall interest in deuterocanonical scripture has increased, but 1 Baruch still receives less attention than texts like Tobit or Ben Sira. Nevertheless, the series Deuterocanonical and cognate literature (Yearbook) of de Gruyter shows a growing number of publications regarding 1 Baruch. Moreover, a monograph with the title Studies in Baruch by Sean A. Adams in the series Deuterocanonical and cognate literature studies is scheduled to appear in 2016, and Géza G. Xeravits plans a publication in this series with the title ‘Take courage, O Ierusalem . . .: Studies in Baruch 4–5’.

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him, this perspective is the result of an inadequate view of the text: “1 Baruch thus does not seek to say something new. Rather, it strives to condense the fullness of statements from the Scriptures for the whole of Israel in a manner that is both groundbreaking and relevant for its time. . . . ‘Canon in the canon,’ ‘Center of Scriptures’ constitute the central aspects and intentions of the book, rather than the search for literary features and intellectual autonomy.”6 This clear dependence on the Scriptures of the Old Testament7 connects 1 Baruch with 5 Ezra, a text that, according to Hugo Duensing, is in its first part “nichts anderes als ein Mosaik aus zahllosen alttestamentlichen Sätzen.”8 Fifth Ezra is transmitted as the first two chapters of 4 Ezra in the appendix of the Vulgate and is usually dated between 130 and 250 ce. Nothing is known about its place of origin, and its original language was probably Greek or Latin. This text, like 1 Baruch, has not received much scholarly consideration until the present, and according to Robert A. Kraft, The text has received minimal attention (as of 1986) from modern scholarship, despite its presence on the fringes of the Latin Christian canonical scriptures. Fifth Ezra provides living proof that one need not wait for new manuscripts to be uncovered in graves or caves to engage in work on hitherto virtually unexamined materials, and its contents seem directly relevant to questions about early Christian use of Jewish materials.9 However, the prevalent use of the Old Testament and a neglect from scholarship in the last several decades are not the only aspects that 1 Baruch and 5 Ezra have in common: A comparison of the texts shows a clear connection in terms of their structure and content. Fifth Ezra adopts 1 Baruch. In fact, 1 Baruch can even be seen as providing the framework for the structure of 5 Ezra. But what is the reason for this? Why does 5 Ezra place such importance on 1 Baruch? What 6  Steck, Das Buch Baruch, 11. 7  The term “Old Testament” here is not intended pejoratively and is used with full awareness of the problems of terms; also, terms like “First Testament” or “Hebrew Bible” are unhelpful in this context but cause problems of their own (see also Tobias Nicklas, “Frühchristliche Ansprüche auf die Schriften Israels,” in Scriptural Authority in early Judaism and ancient Christianity [ed. Isaac Kalimi, Tobias Nicklas, and Geza G. Xeravits; Berlin: de Gruyter, 2013], 347–68 at 347). 8  Hugo Duensing, “Das fünfte und sechste Buch Esra,” in Apostolisches, Apokalypsen und Verwandtes (vol. 2 of Neutestamentliche Apokryphen in deutscher Übersetzung; ed. Edgar Hennecke; 3d ed.; Tübingen: Mohr, 1964), 488–98 n. 4. 9  Robert A. Kraft, Exploring the Scripturesque: Jewish Texts and their Christian Contexts (JSJ.Sup 137; Leiden: Brill, 2009), 149.

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makes it interesting for “the author” and his message? How does the use of 1 Baruch affect the interpretations of both texts? And how do the texts arrive at such different positions despite the many shared elements?10 A comparison of 1 Baruch and 5 Ezra quickly reveals points of similarity between the texts, not only because of their use of the same motifs and themes, but also because of the structures of their compositions, which generally correspond. At the same time, the messages of the texts seem contradictory at first glance, and the conclusions have very different conceptions of the future. Both texts contain the same structural elements and subsections: (1) They describe the sins of Israel, (2) show God’s reaction, (3) depict complaints and consolation, and finally (4) envision a bright future. However, the texts are attached to different religious contexts: In contrast to the Jewish outlook of 1 Baruch, 5 Ezra is often called anti-Jewish. For this reason, Rüdiger Feuerstein considers 5 Ezra’s use of 1 Baruch “beinahe als Mißbrauch eines alttestamentlichen Textes.”11 These issues prompt us to consider the viewpoints of each text and how these perspectives are expressed. Both texts reflect on the same situation, which at times is expressed in almost the same words: Bar 1:15aβ–22 Righteousness belongs to the Lord our God, but confusion of face, as at this day, to us, to the men of Judah, to the inhabitants of Jerusalem, 16and to our kings and our princes and our priests and our prophets and our fathers, 17because we have sinned before the Lord, 18and have disobeyed him, and have not heeded the voice of the Lord our God, to walk in the statutes of the Lord which he set before us. 19From the day when the Lord brought our fathers out of the land of Egypt until today, we have been disobedient to the Lord our God, and we have been negligent, in not heeding his voice. 20So to this day there have clung to us the calamities and the curse which the Lord declared through Moses his servant at the time when he brought our fathers out of the land of Egypt to give to us a land flowing with milk and honey. 21We did not heed the voice of the Lord our God in all the words of the prophets whom he sent 10  Regarding the content of the texts, 1 Baruch ends with the description of a magnificent future for Israel; 5 Ezra describes the decision of YHWH to leave Israel and choose another nation as his nation. 11  Rüdiger Feuerstein, Das Buch Baruch: Studien zu Textgestalt und Auslegungsgeschichte (Frankfurt am Main: Lang, 1997), 122.

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to us, 22but we each followed the intent of his own wicked heart by serving other gods and doing what is evil in the sight of the Lord our God.12 5 Ezra 1:4–11 The word of the Lord came to me, saying, 5“Go and declare to my people their evil deeds, and to their children the iniquities which they have committed against me, so that they may tell their children’s children 6that the sins of their parents have increased in them, for they have forgotten me and have offered sacrifices to strange gods. 7Was it not I who brought them out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of bondage? But they have angered me and despised my counsels. 8Pull out the hair of your head and hurl all evils upon them, for they have not obeyed my law— they are a rebellious people. 9How long shall I endure them, on whom I have bestowed such great benefits? 10For their sake I have overthrown many kings: I struck down Pharaoh with his servants, and all his army. 11I have destroyed all nations before them, and scattered in the east the people of two provinces, Tyre and Sidon; I have slain all their enemies.”13 The people of Israel have committed evil deeds (5 Ezra 1:5) and iniquities (1 Bar 1:18, 19) since the time that YHWH brought them out of Egypt (1 Bar 1:19; 5 Ezra 1:7), although they were admonished by the prophets (1 Bar 1:21; 5 Ezra 1:32). The sins of Israel—disregard of God’s law (1 Bar 1:18; 5 Ezra 1:34) and the worship of other gods (Bar 1:22; 5 Ezra 1:6)—function as the starting point for both texts: In the exodus generation and in every generation since, Israel sins against YHWH. Despite focusing on this common theme in their introductions, differences are also present. Additionally, the “method” in 5 Ezra entails a complete different development so that the book ends with the expulsion of Israel and not with its salvation as in 1 Baruch. In 1 Baruch Israel confesses its sins and remains the only speaker in the first section (1 Bar 1:15aβ–2:10);—in this way the text emphasizes that the people truly recognize and admit their failing.14 However, in 5 Ezra it is God himself who accuses Israel,15 and who laments its continual sins, ignorance, and lack of awareness. Additionally, in 1 Baruch the justice of God, which is repeatedly emphasized by Israel (1 Bar 1:15; 2:6 et al.), 12  This translation is drawn from the RSV. 13  This translation also comes from the RSV, which is based on the Manuscripts SA. 14  This is also expressed by Sean A. Adams: “In v. 15 they are shamed and in a state of humiliation . . . Shame is shared by every member of the community, not only those who are currently living, but also those who have gone before” (Sean A. Adams, Baruch and the Epistle of Jeremiah: A Commentary on the Greek Texts of Codex Vaticanus [Septuagint Commentary Series; Leiden: Brill, 2014], 65). 15  Until 5 Ezra 1:11 YHWH only speaks about Israel, not with it.

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is contrasted with the sins of the people and results in their increased selfaccusation.16 In 5 Ezra, however, God himself counts up the deeds that he has done on behalf of Israel. This perspective makes the sins of the people still worse (5 Ezra 1:7–23).17 Through the divergent portrayals of the situation, different perspectives are voiced about the calamities God sends18 upon Israel in response to their sins: In 1 Baruch the people of Israel consider the justice of God to be unquestionable because their own repeated sins and the calamities afflicting them are the selfinflicted consequences of their own disobedience (1 Bar 1:20; 2:7, 9). Israel sees a clear connection between disobedience, punishment by YHWH, and calamities; Israel does not question this. God sent the calamities (2:9), but these are clearly understood as punishment for the people’s sins and are thus the result of God’s justice. This is discussed by Sean Adams: “Here the worldview of the author is laid bare: God is responsible for what is happening in the world and, despite what we might think, God is just (δίκαιος) in everything he does.”19 Although Israel speaks of God’s rage (1 Bar 2:20), which implies a recognition of God as emotional, it becomes clear that the punishment was threatened and announced in advance (2:2, 21–23). Consequently, the punishment is the outcome of Israel’s behavior and not an emotional, spontaneous overreaction on the part of God. Israel knows that the present age is due to the past and that action and reaction are clearly connected. The people must suffer for their sins and disobedience, and none of them are exempt: Although they are faced with murder, subjection, and scattering, they nevertheless have not yet returned to the paths of God. God’s justice, however, repeatedly enables them to change and obey his statutes (2:10). 1 Bar 2:1–10 So the Lord confirmed his word, which he spoke against us, and against our judges who judged Israel, and against our kings and against our princes and against the men of Israel and Judah. 2Under 16  Sean A. Adams (with the Greek text of 1 Baruch in view) underscores the fact that “[t]hese two verbless clauses stand in stark contrast to each other, as the speaker attempts to depict the vast distance between his community and God” (Adams, Commentary, 65). 17  According to Michael Wolter, “Die Gegenüberstellung von Gottes ‘Wohltaten’ (vgl. V.9.17) und Israels ‘Untaten’ zwischen der Herausführung aus Ägypten und der Landnahme verarbeitet eine Tradition (Bergren nennt sie ‘Exodus-Review’ form“ [5Ezra 110 u.ö.]), die eine deutlich erkennbare jüdische Vorgeschichte hat; ihre ältesten Ausformulierungen dürften in den Sündenbekenntnissen von Ps 78,13ff; 106,7; Neh 9,11ff greifbar sein” (Michael Wolter, 5. Esra-Buch, 6. Esra-Buch [JSHRZ III, 7; Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 2001], 796). 18  That is, which he intends to send (5 Ezra). 19  Adams, Commentary, 77.

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the whole heaven there has not been done the like of what he has done in Jerusalem, in accordance with what is written in the law of Moses,  3that we should eat, one the flesh of his son and another the flesh of his daughter. 4And he gave them into subjection to all the kingdoms around us, to be a reproach and a desolation among all the surrounding peoples, where the Lord has scattered them. 5They were brought low and not raised up, because we sinned against the Lord our God, in not heeding his voice. 6Righteousness belongs to the Lord our God, but confusion of face to us and our fathers, as at this day. 7All those calamities with which the Lord threatened us have come upon us. 8Yet we have not entreated the favor of the Lord by turning away, each of us, from the thoughts of his wicked heart. 9And the Lord has kept the calamities ready, and the Lord has brought them upon us, for the Lord is righteous in all his works which he has commanded us to do. 10Yet we have not obeyed his voice, to walk in the statutes of the Lord which he set before us. In contrast to this passage, 5 Ezra depicts a different focus. God affirms the multitude of deeds that he performed on behalf of Israel, while they continuously sinned and grumbled against him. The text emphasizes the contrast between the ways of God and Israel: God unremittingly pursued Israel, yet they always disobeyed and despised him. Furthermore, they committed murder and killed God’s prophets (1:32). Various textual features—including the list of deeds in 5 Ezra 1:7–23; questions like “How long shall I endure them. . .?” (1:9a), “Where are the benefits which I bestowed on you?” (1:17a), and “What more can I do for you?” (1:21c); and exclamations like “Yet you have forgotten me” (1:14b) or “. . . and in them you complained” (1:15b)—show God’s concern for Israel, his goodwill and benevolence, but also his exasperation and resignation. Their unchanged actions prompt God to respond more severely: 5 Ezra 1:24–27 “What shall I do to you, O Jacob? You would not obey me, O Judah. I will turn to other nations and will give them my name, that they may keep my statutes. 25Because you have forsaken me, I also will forsake you. When you beg mercy of me, I will show you no mercy. 26When you call upon me, I will not listen to you; for you have defiled your hands with blood, and your feet are swift to commit murder. 27It is not as though you had forsaken me; you have forsaken yourselves”, says the Lord. 1:35–37 I will give your houses to a people that will come, who without having heard me will believe. Those to whom I have shown no signs will do what I have commanded. 36They have seen no prophets, yet will recall their former state. 37I call to witness the gratitude of the people that is to

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come, whose children rejoice with gladness; though they do not see me with bodily eyes, yet with the spirit they will believe the things I have said. God’s decision to leave Israel and turn to other nations20 that will comply with his statutes is depicted as unavoidable in light of God’s long, unsuccessful attempt to bring about a change in Israel. This second part of the text (1:24–40) announces the consequences of God’s response to Israel’s rejection and ingratitude. He revokes his relationship with the people and finally repudiates them. Israel does not speak a word and loses God’s grace entirely. The calamities that the people endure are the result of Israel’s sins in 1 Baruch and in 5 Ezra, but in 5 Ezra they arise from God’s decision to stop pursuing his people, who nearly provoke him to leave them for good. This difference is crucial for the connection between YHWH and Israel and the rest of their story. In 1 Baruch, Israel’s calamity is connected to their sins and God’s justice. This leads to a conclusion in the second part of 1 Baruch (2:11–35) that is as sure as Israel’s sinfulness and God’s justness, namely that God is without question the unchanging God of Israel (2:11) who brought his people out of Egypt and shared his own name with them (2:15).21 Relying upon this assurance, Israel is able to cry to God in its desperate situation and to request and expect salvation (2:14) and compassion (2:27) from him. The possibility of drawing near to YHWH in this way not only emphasizes the continuing relationship between God and Israel, but also allows the situation to change and Israel’s punishment to cease: 1 Bar 2:30b–34 But in the land of their exile they will come to themselves, 31and they will know that I am the Lord their God. I will give them a heart that obeys and ears that hear; 32and they will praise me in the land of their exile, and will remember my name, 33and will turn from their stubbornness and their wicked deeds; for they will remember 20  In the manuscripts CMNEVL we read “Transferam me ad gentem alteram.” 21  Adams makes an important and interesting observation about this part of 1 Baruch: “Baruch 2:11–13 shares a number of features with Dan 9:15–16 . . . . There is, however, one important difference in the petitions; Baruch asks for the survival of Israel, whereas Daniel seeks God’s intervention for Jerusalem and the temple. That Baruch does not petition God for Jerusalem and the temple is notable and highlights the different concerns in these highly related texts” (Adams, Commentary, 78). What does this difference say about ‘the author’ of Baruch’s concept of Israel? How can it be related with the view of the author of 5 Ezra?

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the ways of their fathers, who sinned before the Lord. 34I will bring them again into the land which I swore to give to their fathers, to Abraham and to Isaac and to Jacob, and they will rule over it; and I will increase them, and they will not be diminished. Israel confesses its faults and suffers from destruction and scattering, but Israel is also aware of the covenant with YHWH and hopes for a better future. In 1 Baruch the connection between God and Israel is never doubted; in 5 Ezra, however, Israel is totally replaced by another nation. As a result, there is no place for the requests found in 1 Bar 2:11–18 and 3:1–6. In this context it is noteworthy that in 1 Baruch the people connect their specific relationship with YHWH to the signs and wonders that he has did for them beginning with the exodus (1 Bar 2:11). However, the people’s obliviousness of this matter in 5 Ezra constitutes one of God’s main accusations towards them (5 Ezra 1:7–23). Another affinity can be found in both texts: both 1 Baruch and 5 Ezra describe Israel as a stiff-necked people / rebellious people (1 Bar 2:30 populus dura cervice; 5 Ezra 1:8 populus indisciplinatus), who are driven out and scattered by God (1 Bar 2:4; 5 Ezra 2:7) and threatened with destruction (1 Bar 2:24, 29; 5 Ezra 1:34). Each of the texts acknowledge Israel’s sinfulness and God’s punishment, but in 1 Baruch the permanence of the covenant is as certain and indisputable as its cancellation in 5 Ezra. Accordingly, the “other nation” that replaces Israel (5 Ezra 1:24) shall become the “actual” Israel and fulfill the duties and the faith that Israel neglected (1:35, 37). The new nation will receive YHWH’s name (1:24), his statutes (1:24), and Israel’s leaders and prophets (1:39– 40). First Baruch also mentions another nation: In 1 Bar 4:3 Israel is warned not to lose their exceptional position to an alien people; in 4:15 Jerusalem laments that “a nation from afar, a shameless nation of a strange language, who had no respect for an old man, and had no pity for a child” (see Deut 28:49–50) brought away Israel as prisoner. One question remains unanswered, namely the nature of the relationship between the “alien people” and the “nation from afar” and whether there is any connection with the “other nation” of 5 Ezra. The description of God’s punishment of Israel and the appeals of the people are followed in 1 Baruch by a wisdom poem (1 Bar 3:9–4:4). Baruch explains to Israel that its dispersion was a result of leaving the paths of truth and therefore God’s paths (3:12, 13). Israel, thus, must return to wisdom to regain peace. The urgency of the reversal is emphasized by means of the five imperatives that frame this section. Baruch wants to wake up the people and generate understanding. This part of 1 Baruch has no structural counterpart in 5 Ezra since “the author” of the later text seeks to portray Israel as a “stiff-necked” people

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that will not receive salvation but will lose its privileged position.22 Theodore Bergren connects this section (i.e., Baruch’s wisdom poem) with 5 Ezra 1:25–34, which in his opinion is also influenced by texts from the Old Testament.23 The last section of 1 Baruch, which depicts complaint, consolation and the promise of a bright future, has its structural counterpart in 5 Ezra 2:1–41. It starts with the important motif of Jerusalem as the mother of Israel,24 which is also repeated in 5 Ezra (cf. 1 Bar 4:8–29; 5 Ezra 2:2–4). Here we can see the clearest intertextual references between 5 Ezra and another biblical text: 1 Bar 4:8–19 You forgot the everlasting God, who brought you up, and you grieved Jerusalem, who reared you. 9For she saw the wrath that came upon you from God, and she said: “Hearken, you neighbors of Zion, God has brought great sorrow upon me; 10for I have seen the captivity of my sons and daughters, which the Everlasting brought upon them. 11With joy I nurtured them, but I sent them away with weeping and sorrow. 12Let no one rejoice over me, a widow and bereaved of many; I was left desolate because of the sins of my children, because they turned away from the law of God. 13They had no regard for his statutes; they did not walk in the ways of God’s commandments, nor tread the paths of discipline in his righteousness. 14Let the neighbors of Zion come; remember the capture of my sons and daughters, which the Everlasting brought upon them. 15For he brought against them a nation from afar, a shameless nation, of a strange language, who had no respect for an old man, and had no pity for a child. 16They led away the widow’s beloved sons, and bereaved the lonely woman of her daughters. 17But I, how can I help you? 18For he who

22  This monologue gives Baruch a particular position of authority in 1 Baruch, while Ezra in 5 Ezra becomes more important only from 2:33 on and mainly as intermediary between God and the new people. 23  Theodore A. Bergren, “The Structure and Composition of 5 Ezra,” VigChr 64 (2010): 115–39 at 127–28. 24  Adams comments on the meaning of this motif: “What is more distinctive is that Baruch presents Jerusalem as a mother. Although seen indirectly in Tob 13:9 and Jer 5:7 in references to Jerusalem’s ‘sons,’ it is fair to say that nowhere else in the Greek Bible is Jerusalem regularly presented as a mother, except for Isaiah 49–54, esp. 54:1–6. . . . What is unique to Baruch is the length of Jerusalem’s speech and the fact that it is uninterrupted. . . . Unlike the presentation of Jerusalem in other prophetic books, Baruch’s Jerusalem is portrayed as innocent, suffering not because of her own sin, but because of the sins of her children” (Adams, Commentary, 118).

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brought these calamities upon you will deliver you from the hand of your enemies. 19Go, my children, go; for I have been left desolate. The lament of Jerusalem is described in 1 Bar 4:9–20. Jerusalem, which is described as the mother of Israel, deplores the loss of her sons and daughters in captivity (4:10). Thus, she became a widow, desolate and forsaken, full of sorrow and enduring mockery about her harm (4:12). She attributes the capture of her children to a nation from afar that God brought against them (4:15) because Israel had left his paths and did not observe his commandments (4:13). While Jerusalem can only confess her helplessness, she directs her children to YHWH, who brought the calamities. 1 Baruch 4:20 shows a change in the nature of Jerusalem’s grief: She cries to God, the Everlasting, who not only brought the calamities but will also (according to her conviction) deliver her children from their enemies. This declaration leads to the final part of 1 Baruch: While in the preceding text Israel’s present situation was mainly in focus, Jerusalem’s attention is now on the future. In 4:21–29 she gives solace to her children and calls upon them to have courage and to expect the salvation that YHWH will soon bring them. Calamity and salvation, punishment and rescue, and sinfulness and reversal are contrasted. The degree of contrast between past, present, and future as well as the complete reversal of Israel’s situation are shown in the formulations in 4:11 and 4:23: Jerusalem first lamented, “With joy I nurtured them, but I sent them away with weeping and sorrow,” but now she assures her children, “For I sent you out with sorrow and weeping, but God will give you back to me with joy and gladness for ever.” Her confidence in YHWH is absolute and is the recurring attitude throughout 1 Baruch. Although the calamities of her children still exist, Jerusalem’s trust in God’s mercy has not waned. After Jerusalem consoles her children, Baruch himself comforts Jerusalem in 4:30–5:9 and promises a great and joyful future in which her children will be brought back to their mother (4:37), their enemies will suffer grief and desolation (4:33), and Israel will be granted peace and glory forever (5:4). This last section of 1 Baruch emphasizes the deep and unharmed relationship between Jerusalem, Israel, and YHWH, who is the savior of his people and will reunify the mother and her children after their lengthy separation. 1 Bar 4:30 Take courage, O Jerusalem, for he who named you will comfort you. 5:1 Take off the garment of your sorrow and affliction, O Jerusalem, and put on for ever [sic.] the beauty of the glory from God. 5:5–9 Arise, O Jerusalem, stand upon the height and look toward the east, and see your children gathered from west and east, at the word of the Holy One, rejoicing that God has remembered them. 6For they went forth from you

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on foot, led away by their enemies; but God will bring them back to you, carried in glory, as on a royal throne. 7For God has ordered that every high mountain and the everlasting hills be made low and the valleys filled up, to make level ground, so that Israel may walk safely in the glory of God. 8The woods and every fragrant tree have shaded Israel at God’s command. 9For God will lead Israel with joy, in the light of his glory, with the mercy and righteousness that come from him. While Jerusalem in 1 Baruch speaks extensively, she has another role in 5 Ezra despite the lexical similarities between the texts. In 2:2–4 she deplores her widowhood, her harm and sorrow. 5 Ezra 2:2–4 The mother who bore them says to them, “Go, my children, because I am a widow and forsaken. 3I brought you up with gladness; but with mourning and sorrow I have lost you, because you have sinned before the Lord God and have done what is evil in my sight. 4But now what can I do for you? For I am a widow and forsaken. Go, my children, and ask for mercy from the Lord.” There are some similarities between 1 Baruch and 5 Ezra and also some basic differences. Both texts describe Jerusalem as the mother of Israel, who became a widow through the loss of her children. In 5 Ezra and in 1 Baruch the calamities of Israel are explained in light of the people’s sins and evil deeds. Both sections end with the cry of Jerusalem, which prompts her children to ask for mercy from God. Additionally, 1 Bar 4:32 and 5 Ezra 2:8 describe cities that are threatened and are hostile to God. Nevertheless, there are also two important differences: In 1 Baruch Jerusalem despairs the loss of her children, but in 5 Ezra she deplores the sins of Israel that caused the separation more than the loss of her sons and daughters. This change of focus enables 5 Ezra to transform the basis of the story about God and Israel as well as its outcome. Another important modification is that the author of 5 Ezra programmatically combines the departure of Israel’s children (which in 1 Baruch means their capture) with the final rejection and expulsion of the people, which was announced in 5 Ezra 1:24, 25, thereby giving the lament of Jerusalem another and even greater dimension. Accordingly, there is no consolation for Jerusalem’s children in 5 Ezra. Rather, her lament is followed by God’s curse:25 25  The usual interpretation of this passage sees a dialogue between God and Ezra, who is called “father.” But is Ezra able to bring confusion over Israel? Is that not rather God’s sphere of control? Knibb offers the translation, “Now I call upon you, father Ezra, to

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5 Ezra 2:5–7 “I call upon you, father, as a witness in addition to the mother of the children, because they would not keep my covenant, 6that you may bring confusion upon them and bring their mother to ruin, so that they may have no offspring. 7Let them be scattered among the nations, let their names be blotted out from the earth, because they have despised my covenant.” Israel’s condemnation is irreversible—it has lost all assistance from God and his prophets. Fifth Ezra 2:10 constitutes a break in the text. The replacement is completed; Israel lost its position as God’s people. The other nation is now called “my people” by God and is given the promised future, which in 1 Baruch, however, belongs to Israel despite its ongoing sins. In 5 Ezra it is the mother of the new nation, who receives consolation and hope, while Jerusalem is left in want. 5 Ezra 2:10 10Thus says the Lord to Ezra: “Tell my people that I will give them the kingdom of Jerusalem, which I was going to give to Israel. 11Moreover, I will take back to myself their glory, and will give to these others the everlasting habitations, which I had prepared for Israel.” 2:15 “Mother, embrace your sons; bring them up with gladness, as does the dove; establish their feet, because I have chosen you, says the Lord. 2:26 Not one of the servants whom I have given you will perish, for I will require them from among your number. 27Do not be anxious, for when the day of tribulation and anguish comes, others shall weep and be sorrowful, but you shall rejoice and have abundance.” 2:40 “Take again your full number, O Zion, and conclude the list of your people who are clothed in white, who have fulfilled the law of the Lord. 41The number of your children, whom you desired, is full; beseech the Lord’s power that your people, who have been called from the beginning, may be made holy.”

add your testimony to hers, that her children have refused to keep my covenant; and let your words bring confusion on them” (Richard J. Coggins, Michael A. Knibb, The First and Second Books of Esdras [The Cambridge Bible Commentary, New English Bible; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1979], 88.) In my eyes this is a rather loose translation of the following Latin text: “Ego autem te, pater, testem invoco super matrem filiorum, quia noluerunt testamentum meum servare, ut des eis confusionem et matrem eorum in direptionem, ne generatio eorum fiat” (5 Esra 2:5, 6).

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Everything that was intended for Israel—salvation, the everlasting habitations, the tree of life, rescue in affliction, God’s mercy and compassion (1 Bar 2:14, 27; 4:22)—is taken from Israel and given to the other nation and its mother.26 This nation is now distinguished from the other nations and from Israel and has a specific relation to God (5 Ezra 2:28, 29). At the same time, this nation receives many duties and commandments that must be followed in order to set itself apart from Israel (5 Ezra 2:20–23). Fifth Ezra finishes with an apocalyptic section, namely the description of a vision that has no equivalent in 1 Baruch and also differs from the previous sections of 5 Ezra. There are apocalyptic motifs, like caelestia regna, candidati, and coronae. There are also “Christian” elements (cf., 2:47, “He is the Son of God, whom they confessed in the world”). Again, the election of the other nation is highlighted, which has been “called from the beginning” (2:41). God’s break with Israel is final and radical—the people are replaced entirely and are nearly annihilated.27

Summary and Conclusions

A comparison of the structures of 1 Baruch and 5 Ezra shows two important points: (1) In my opinion, “the author” of 5 Ezra was influenced by 1 Baruch, 26  The mother of the other nation is often identified with ekklesia, which is based on the conviction that 5 Ezra speaks about Israel and the Christians as a new nation that supersedes Israel. Note that the text gives no clear indication of this nation’s identity. Theodore Bergren comments, “In Bar 4:8–35, which seems to have influenced the author of 5 Ezra, the mother in both her desolate and joyful aspects represents Jerusalem. In 5 Ezra, however, though the sorrowing mother appears to be Jerusalem, the book’s Christian tenor has persuaded many commentators that the mother addressed in 2:15–32 stands for the church” (Michael E. Stone with Theodore A. Bergren, 2 Esdras [Harper’s Bible Commentary; ed. James L. Mays; San Francisco: Harper and Row, 1988], 776–90 at 778.) 27  Regarding the depiction of God in the texts, the following observation is noteworthy: In 1 Baruch we find a coherent image of God—he is YHWH, the God of Israel (1 Bar 2:11), who is faithful and remains with his elected people. His justness and constancy are beyond question (2:6). Israel can trust in his word and hope for salvation from him despite the calamities that he sent to them (4:23; 5:9). Fifth Ezra finishes with a similar picture of God: God promises protection for his people (5 Ezra 2:30), whom he called and elected (2:41). They can trust in his power, will be protected in tribulation (2:27), and receive joy and rest (2:34, 36). The rejection and destruction of Israel are not questioned in the text and do not diminish God’s truth, in which the new people shall trust (2:17, 27–30). Does “the author” of 5 Ezra still want to describe the God who left his people Israel now as YHWH (the God of Israel in 1 Baruch!) who protects his new people instead of the replaced Israel?

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and we can conclude that 1 Baruch determined the structure of 5 Ezra;28 (2) A structural comparison of these two texts helps us to understand how “the author” of 5 Ezra interacts with texts of the Old Testament and changes their content and message. The same structural elements can be detected in both texts, since (1) the sins of Israel are named, (2) God’s reaction to the sins is shown, (3) complaint and consolation are depicted, and (4) a joyful future is described and promised. There are also more explicit correlations in the structure of the texts, such as the mention of Israel’s disregard for God’s commandments (1 Bar 1:18; 5 Ezra 1:34), the importance of God’s deeds during the exodus and the description of Jerusalem as mother of Israel. At the same time, two parts of the texts find no parallel in the other: The praise of wisdom in 1 Baruch (3:9–4:4) has no counterpart in 5 Ezra, while the apocalyptic section at the end of 5 Ezra (2:42–48) differs from the prophetic nature of 1 Baruch. This can be attributed to the texts’ different purposes and settings: 5 Ezra abandons the exceptional position of Israel and does not mention wisdom as YHWH’s “gift” for Israel; 1 Baruch, however, neither envisions another nation receiving awards in the celestial Jerusalem29 in Israel’s place (5 Ezra 2:43, 45), nor does the text interact with “Christian” texts and themes. In light of the different events and conclusions of the texts, arguments for 1 Baruch’s influence on 5 Ezra might seem surprising, and the identification of a relationship between the books may appear unwarranted. However, a comparison of the structure shows that 5 Ezra selectively uses shortened “Jewish” texts. Additionally, through small modifications—the change of speaker and the omission of certain parts—5 Ezra terminates the relationship between God and Israel and replaces Israel with another nation. One may ask, however, who is this other nation? What is its relationship with Israel? Are the oppositions “Israel—Judaism” and “new nation—Christianity” perhaps overly hasty? The appropriation of “Jewish” motifs and the enduring prominence of Zion and prophets like Isaiah and Jeremiah (see 5 Ezra 2:18) illustrate the great importance of OT texts for 5 Ezra. First Baruch is often considered to be a reception of the important texts of “Judaism.” In my opinion, “the author” of 5 Ezra honors these texts and seeks to stay within their context. He changes the message and content of 1 Baruch, but he does not despise this text. In my 28  Bergren sees different salvation-historical stages in 5 Ezra that can also be found in the Book of Baruch. Although I chose another arrangement, I agree that “the author” of 5 Ezra used 1 Baruch as a “comprehensive structural template for his own work” (Bergren, Structure, 124). 29  Compare Wolter, 5. Esra-Buch, 818 n. 42a.

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estimation, 5 Ezra is written as reception of 1 Baruch that not only seeks to “condense the ampleness of [its] statements,” but also to revere 1 Baruch and the world that it stands for. What is the actual message of 5 Ezra? Where should it be located in the complex world of the second or third century ce? I think it is too simple to call 5 Ezra a Christian apocalypse that considers Christianity as the replacement of Israel. We have to take a closer look at the argument of the text and its use of other scriptures.

Chapter 32

Textual and Material Contexts. A Response to Matthias Henze and Liv Ingeborg Lied* Nathalie LaCoste As illuminated by Matthias Henze and Liv Ingeborg Lied, the book of 2 Baruch intersects in different ways with the book of Jeremiah. Not only does it borrow and mimic several of its literary features, it also extends the Jeremianic tradition through its development of the figure of Baruch and its practical use in liturgical settings. The paper by Henze and Lied offers two different approaches to the study of the relationship between Jeremiah and 2 Baruch. The first is literary and exegetical, while the second is an analysis of the early manuscript evidence. Through the combination of these approaches, this paper offers insights about the growth of the Jeremianic tradition and its uses in Second Temple Jewish and Syriac Christian communities. In this response, I will begin with a summary of the two approaches, followed by a discussion on how the combination of the approaches advances our understanding of the Jeremianic corpus. The first approach is exegetical and consists of a literary analysis of the contents of 2 Baruch. It explores how 2 Baruch uses and develops expressions, language, and ideas from the book of Jeremiah. Commonalities are highlighted between the two texts, such as the intertwining of the message and the messenger, the emphasis on the lives of the protagonists, and the use of Deuteronomic themes. There is also a discussion on the modern academic study of 2 Baruch and how it has shifted from the focus on authority and redaction to the contexts of its multiple forms of expression. Drawing parallels between the academic study of the book of Jeremiah with 2 Baruch, attention is given to the composite nature of the text, and how this in turn informs our interpretations. The second approach looks at the manuscript tradition of 2 Baruch. Taking on the role of the codocologist, this section asks how the transmission of the text has affected the discourses of both Jeremiah and Baruch, how they relate *  I am grateful to Hindy Najman and Konrad Schmid for inviting me to participate in the conference and for the opportunity to contribute to the discussion on the figure of Jeremiah and Baruch in 2 Baruch. I also thank Matthias Henze and Liv Ingeborg Lied for the fruitful discussions about Early Judaism that the paper produced.

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to one another, and how they fit into their associated textual units. Beginning with an overview of the known transmission history and the available fragments, it moves into an examination of the Epistle (the last 10 chapters of 2 Baruch). Since many of the manuscripts are found in the Syriac tradition, the Epistle is examined in its Syriac context (in Peshiṭta manuscripts and lectionaries). What is striking about these manuscripts is that the Epistle is not consistently located in the same place, nor with the same identifying ascriptions. This section emphasizes the instability of textual units, textual contents, and the identifications that accompany textual units within a tradition. The placement of an analysis of the textual content of 2 Baruch alongside a discussion of the manuscript tradition raises questions for how we think about the relationship between texts and materiality in biblical studies. Historically, the content of ancient Jewish texts has been treated separately from their material features.1 Scholars tended to focus on either the context of books or the material upon which they were found. This was largely influenced by the fact that there are few physical remains from antiquity that contain writing, producing a (often significant) gap between when our texts were composed and their extant material remains.2 In recent years there has been growing interest in thinking about these two aspects of a text together, its textual content and physical features.3 Being attuned to the more material features of a text develops a deeper appreciation of the uses of a text. How writing is laid out on a page, the title a text receives, and a book’s placement within a canon are all details that can illuminate new ways of understanding a composition and how it was used in a community.4 By bringing together two traditionally distinct 1  An example of this separation can be seen in John J. Collins and Daniel C. Harlow, Eerdman’s Dictionary of Early Judaism (Cambridge: Eerdmans, 2010), which in its initial essays on Early Judaism, has some chapters that deal with texts and canons, while material evidence is separated into its own chapter (i.e., Jürgen K. Zangenberg, “Archaeology, Papyri, and Inscriptions”). 2  The discoveries from Qumran have changed this significantly. For an analysis on the variety of methods that have been appropriated for understanding the Dead Sea Scrolls, see Maxine L. Grossman, ed., Rediscovering the Dead Sea Scrolls: An Assessment of Old and New Methods (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 2010). 3  For an example of a discussion on ancient texts that begins with a description of the manuscripts followed by a textual study, see Daniel Falk, The Parabiblical Texts: Strategies for Extending the Scriptures among the Dead Sea Scrolls (Companion to the Qumran Scrolls 8; LSTS 63; New York: T&T Clark, 2007). 4  As was pointed out in the contribution by Judith Newman, “Confessing in Exile: the Reception and Composition of Jeremiah in (Daniel) and Baruch” in this volume (231–252) and in the response by Mladen Popović, “Scribal Culture of the Hebrew Bible and the Burden of the Canon: Human Agency and Textual Production and Consumption in Ancient Judaism,” in

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approaches to the study of the Jeremianic traditions of 2 Baruch, the paper challenges the reader to think differently about the connections between texts as words and texts as physical material objects. While the two approaches illuminate new facets of the study of 2 Baruch, and in particular its relationship to the Jeremianic tradition, how might the ordering of the approaches change how we understand 2 Baruch? In the paper, Henze and Lied begin with an exegetical investigation of 2 Baruch. By beginning with a literary analysis, the reader is primed for thinking about the content of the apocalypse and in particular about the figure of Baruch in his narrative context. This focus is then carried into the discussion of the manuscript evidence. While the decision to discuss the exegetical details before the manuscripts makes sense from a chronological perspective, as the text is more ancient than the manuscript evidence attests, would a reversal of these sections illuminate new literary features of 2 Baruch? In other words, if we first read about the manuscript tradition of 2 Baruch, would it raise different questions regarding the figure of Baruch in the literary analysis? One way in which a reversal of the approaches might inform the paper is the focus on the performance of the text in the discussion on the manuscripts. By beginning a discussion on 2 Baruch with the performance and use of the physical manuscripts, it might prompt new questions in the textual analysis, such as how literary features informed its uses in Second Temple Jewish contexts. While more evident in the discussions on the manuscripts, questions of the performance of a text within a community setting appear throughout the paper. The book of 2 Baruch was not only a book that was read and studied, but it was also performed. As is pointed out in the conclusion of the exegetical section, 2 Baruch demonstrates the profound influence that Jeremiah had upon its readers in the Second Temple period, which is highlighted by the creative and multiform interpretations of Jeremiah and Baruch in 2 Baruch. In the study on the manuscript evidence, we see how the identifications present in the manuscript can be indicative of their use and how their use might shift depending on their liturgical setting. Therefore, the performative functions of the text are raised in different ways in each approach, yet they are joined by the flexibility of the text as it shifts from community to community, taking on new meanings. In placing these two approaches into conversation with one another, performance is brought to the forefront by considering the different features of the text and its literary development in relationship to the book of Jeremiah. this volume (253–258). The materiality of texts often sheds light on their use and can influence how they are read and understood.

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The figure of Baruch stands at the crossroads of these two approaches. First, the combination of the exegetical and manuscript traditions approaches allows us to look at the figure of Baruch in new ways. Throughout this conference, the identity of Jeremiah was discussed in great detail. A question that naturally arises from a study on 2 Baruch is the emphasis on the connections between the lives of Baruch and Jeremiah. How can we understand the figure of Baruch in relation to Jeremiah? How does he come into his own and yet remain deeply connected to Jeremianic traditions? There are many connections between the two figures, as illuminated in this paper. One example is when Baruch prays after returning to the ruins of the temple. Here he laments and introduces his prayer with the words of Jeremiah “O that my head were a spring of water, and my eyes a fountain of tears” (2 Bar. 35:2). The conclusion drawn here is that Jeremiah and Baruch are united in their sorrow over the fall of Jerusalem. Could we also understand this borrowing from Jeremiah as Baruch seeking to replace the figure of Jeremiah? Does Baruch become a new Jeremiah? A second example will highlight this question further. In the discussion on the lectionaries, we see that sections from the Epistle are sometimes labeled as the words of Jeremiah rather than those of Baruch. This indicates a blurring of the lines between the figures of Jeremiah and Baruch in the reception of the text as well as within the text itself. It demonstrates that 2 Baruch is more than a spin off text: it builds upon and weaves together a wealth of Jeremianic traditions, many of which developed hundreds of years earlier. The shifting identity of Baruch in the manuscript tradition of 2 Baruch is indicative of the close literary relationship shared between Baruch and Jeremiah, and it also speaks to the development of Baruch and his emergence as a distinct figure. Throughout the paper, we see examples of Baruch developing in relation to the figure of Jeremiah but also coming into his own, as authoritative in his own right. This paper offers many examples of how Baruch is both like Jeremiah but also different from Jeremiah. The paper presented by Henze and Lied offers insights into the later growth of the Jeremianic tradition, and in particular the figure of Baruch. Their study has illuminated how a combination of two approaches, one textual and the other material, can further delineate the relationship between Jeremiah and Baruch. By examining the interconnectivity between these two aspects, the textual and the material, we are better able to understand the continued development of Jeremianic traditions from the Second Temple period to Late Antiquity and the Middle Ages.

Chapter 33

Retelling the Story of Exile: The Reception of the Jeremiah Tradition in 4 Baruch in the Perspective of the Jewish Diaspora Jens Herzer 1

Introductory Remarks

Beginning with the Babylonian exile in the 6th century bce, the existence of a growing number of Jews in the diaspora became a significant and challenging factor in the history of the Jewish people. Already the book of Jeremiah witnesses to a controversial discourse on how Jews should behave in the situation of exile and what they should expect from this situation for the future of the people as a whole (cf. particularly the letter of Jeremiah to the exiles in Jer 29). Six centuries later, after the divestiture of the Zealot attempt to free Israel from Roman hegemony and the destruction of the Jerusalem Temple in 70 ce, the relations between the Jewish diaspora and the homeland became even more a divisive issue among the intellectual forces of the people. Some fifty years later, one of these forces set the final seal of approval on the temple’s destruction by military means against the Romans and thus enforced the development towards a new kind of Rabbinic Judaism.1 4 Baruch belongs to a group of Hellenistic-Jewish writings attributed to Jeremiah and/or his scribe Baruch that have become particularly important for the study of diaspora literature and the development of a diaspora identity in close relation to the homeland after the events of 70 ce. The book is composed as a fictitious retelling of the story of exile, and through the course of the plot it establishes an interesting discourse on identity formation of the Jewish people.2 One of the most significant features of this discourse in 4 Baruch is 1  For the complexity of the relationship between the homeland and the diaspora see, e.g., Isaiah M. Gafni, Land, Center and Diaspora: Jewish Constructs in Late Antiquity (JSPSup 21; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1997), esp. 19–40 and 58–78. 2  On this issue see, e.g., (with particular focus on the Jewish diaspora in Egypt) John M. G. Barcley, Jews in the Mediterranean Diaspora: From Alexander to Trajan (323 BCE–117 CE) (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1996); Eric S. Gruen, Diaspora: Jews Amidst Greeks and Romans (Boston: Harvard University Press, 2002), esp. 232–54.

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the exchange of letters between the homeland, namely Jerusalem represented by Baruch, and the diaspora, represented by Jeremiah. The fictional interaction between these two different perspectives reveals a certain ideology of how its author—or its “Trägerkreise”—imagine the continuing relationship of diaspora Judaism to the homeland, and particularly to the mother city of Jerusalem, even after the temple would definitively remain destroyed. Judaism without temple is a Judaism effectively challenged to vitalize the mutual relation between diaspora and homeland.3 In this paper, I aim at presenting a broader perspective of this challenge of the Jewish people developed in 4 Baruch and identifying the inner-Jewish discourse on the relationship between Jerusalem and the diaspora at the beginning of the second century ce. 2

Contextualization of the Issue

In order to contextualize the story told in 4 Baruch, a few introductory remarks on its literary and historical setting may be in order. The common view situates its origin in close relation to the second Jewish revolt (132–135 ce), although it remains disputed whether 4 Baruch was written before or after the Bar-Kokhba war.4 This event and its outcome are perhaps as important for the history of the Jewish people as the destruction of the Second Temple in 70 ce. It is thus no surprise that 4 Baruch retells the old story of the temple destruction from the 6th century and the following Babylonian exile in order to re-apply this

3  See Beate Ego, Armin Lange, and Peter Pilhofer, eds., Gemeinde ohne Tempel—Community without Temple: Zur Substituierung und Transformation des Jerusalemer Tempels und seines Kults im Alten Testament, antiken Judentum und frühen Christentum (WUNT 118; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1999). See also Matthias Henze, Jewish Apocalypticism in Late First Century: Reading Second Baruch in Context (TSAJ 142; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011): esp. 228–52. 4  For a dating, see, e.g., Pierre M. Bogaert, Apocalypse de Baruch: Introduction, traduction du Syriaque et commentaire (SC 144/145, 2 vols.; Paris: Cerf, 1969): between 125 and 132 ce; Stephen E. Robinson, “4 Baruch: A New Translation and Introduction,” in The Old Testament Pseudepigrapha (ed. James H. Charlesworth, London: Doubleday, 1985), 2: 413–25: around 130 ce; Jean Riaud, Les Paralipomènes du prophète Jérémie: Présentation, texte original, traduction et commentaires (Cahiers du Centre Interdisciplinaire de Recherches en Histoire, Lettres et Langues 14; Angers: Association Saint-Yves, 1994): between 118 and 130 ce. For views that place it after: J. Rendel Harris, The Rest of the Words of Baruch: A Christian Apocalypse of the Year 136 A.D.: The Text revised with an Introduction (London: Clay, 1889): 70 ce plus 66 years (mentioned in 4 Baruch 5) = 136.

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collective memory to the actual situation of the Jewish people. 4 Baruch shares these narrative characteristics with 2 Baruch on which it depends very heavily.5 More significantly than other writings that are also related to the temple’s destruction in 70 ce—though in an earlier state and under a more tangible impression of the events like for example 4 Ezra or 2 Baruch—4 Baruch belongs into a period when the development of Judaism took a definite turn towards a religious future without temple. This situation is characterized by a complex debate on the future identity of Judaism. In rabbinic literature, this controversy in Judaism after 70 ce is represented in exemplary fashion by two main characters in the theological debate. Johanan ben Zakkai, a student of Hillel and former member of the Sanhedrin, was very skeptical about political hopes of a restitution of land and temple by a Messiah and proclaimed loyalty to Roman imperial power (cf. Avot of Rabbi Nathan B 31). Rabbi Akiva, on the other hand, obviously regarded Bar Kokhba as the Messiah. In the Jerusalem Talmud this controversy is reflected in the well-known dialogue between the Rabbis Akiva and Johanan ben Toreta (y. Ta‘anit 4:5): R. Simeon b. Yochai taught, Aqiba, my master, would interpret the following verse: ‘A star [kokhab] shall come forth out of Jacob’ (Numbers 24:17)—‘A disappointment [ko-zeba] shall come forth out of Jacob.’ R. Aqiba: When he saw Bar Kozeba, he said, ‘This is the King Messiah.’ Said to him R. Yohanan ben Toreta, ‘Aqiba! Grass will grow on of your cheeks, and the Messiah will not yet have come!6 In the period after Johanan ben Zakkai and Gamaliel II, the ideology of Rabbi Akiva in support of Bar Kokhba gained even more influence.7 The two rebellions, one in the diaspora against Trajan (98–117) in 115–117 ce and Bar Kokhba’s revolt in the homeland against Hadrian (117–138) in 132–135, witness to these religious-political tensions and expectations for a restoration of the temple. 5  See Jens Herzer, Die Paralipomena Jeremiae: Studien zu Tradition und Redaktion einer Haggada des frühen Judentums (TSAJ 43; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1994); idem, 4 Baruch (Paraleipomena Jeremiou): Translated with an Introduction and Commentary (Writings from the Greco-Roman World 22; Atlanta: Scholars Press and Leiden: Brill, 2005). 6  Translation quoted from Jacob Neusner, Besah and Ta‘anit (vol. 18 of The Talmud of the Land of Israel: A Preliminary Translation and Explanation; Chicago Studies in the History of Judaism; Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1987). 7  See Peter Schäfer, Geschichte der Juden in der Antike (2d ed.; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2010). See also idem, The Bar Kokhba War Reconsidered (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2003); Richard Marks, The Image of Bar Kokhba in Traditional Jewish Literature: False Messiah and National Hero (University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 1994).

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According to the Roman historian Dio Cassius (Historia Romana 69 12.113.2), the transformation of Jerusalem into Aelia Capitolina commanded by Hadrian during his visit in Palestine in 129–130 ce was one of the major factors for the outbreak of the war. Whether or not this might be an appropriate assessment, it is plausible enough to assume that the violent repression of the rebellions in the diaspora had significantly affected the people’s loyalty towards the Roman imperial power.8 Long before 4 Baruch was written, the Greco-Roman culture had become a lasting challenge to Judaism, which in the end led to the dramatic events of the two Jewish wars against the Romans.9 Thus, it is no wonder that Jewish literature at the turn of the second century mirrors the complex and still controversial perspectives on Judaism of its time. Moreover, the complexity of Judaism in this period of crisis indicates that sharp demarcations between the classical corpora like Hellenistic-Jewish writings, rabbinical writings, and not least Christian writings, are not helpful for drawing an appropriate picture of Judaism. Writings like 4 Baruch in particular provide not only insights into the contemporary inner-Jewish discourse but also witness to the increasingly problematic relation between Judaism and Christianity, which becomes obvious through the Christian redaction of the text and its transmission only in Christian tradition.10 Thus, the so-called “parting of the 8  For the Roman perspective on the war see, e.g., Werner Eck, “The Bar Kokhba Revolt: The Roman Point of View,” JRS 89 (1999): 76–89. 9  See, e.g., the still seminal study by Martin Hengel, Judentum und Hellenismus: Studien zu ihrer Begegnung unter besonderer Berücksichtigung Palästinas bis zur Mitte des 2. Jahrhunderts vor Christus (3d ed.; WUNT 10; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1988); idem, Die Zeloten: Untersuchungen zur jüdischen Freiheitsbewegung in der Zeit von Herodes I. bis 70 n. Chr. (ed. Roland Deines and Claus-Jürgen Thornton; 3d ed.; WUNT 283; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011): esp. 150–229. 10  Some still regard 4 Baruch as a Christian writing, a view which was first established by Harris, Rest. Cf., e.g., Marc Philonenko, “Simples observations sur les Paralipomènes de Jérémie,” RHPR 76 (1996): 157–77. See, however, the critique by Jens Herzer, “Die Paralipomena Jeremiae—eine christlich-gnostische Schrift? Eine Antwort an Marc Philonenko,” JSJ 30 (1999): 25–39. Bernd Heininger, “Totenerweckung oder Weckruf (ParJer 7,12–20)? Gnostische Spurensuche in den Paralipomena Jeremiae,” SNTSU A (1998): 79–112, argues for a substantial Gnostic edition (“gnostische Relecture,” 107) of 4 Baruch, which has changed the character of the original Jewish work. The redactors may have been Christian Gnostics to be found “in den Reihen der johanneischen Dissidenten” (ibid., 110). Pierluigi Piovanelli, “In Praise of ‘The Default Position,’ or Reassessing the Christian Reception of the Jewish Pseudepigraphic Heritage,” NTT 61 (2007): 233–50, regards 4 Baruch as a Christian rewritten version of the Coptic version of the Jeremiah Apocryphon; but see Herzer, 4 Baruch, xxiv–xxvi.

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ways”11 between Judaism and Christianity also had an impact on the innerJewish relations, and the interactive discourse reveals different and sometimes contradictory interests. “The relationship between early Judaism and rabbinic Judaism, then, is characterized not by dependence but dialogue, disputation, and sometimes polemic.”12 It is, therefore, only retrospectively and with a merely idealistic perspective that we can identify or rather construct distinct religious groups to which certain clusters of writings are assigned. After long internal disputes and two unsuccessful wars against Rome, the separation of what became known as rabbinical Judaism appears to be a decision of conservative groups, which consciously demarcated themselves from Greco-Roman culture and language, and thus also from writings that are deeply influenced by this culture.13 A major force in this formative process were indeed the Pharisees, “who were apparently the spiritual ancestors of the Tannaim.”14 This, however, does not mean that the influence of the Greco-Roman culture ceased and that the disputes came to an end, as not least the rabbinic traditions vividly show. Yet, even the Pharisees cannot be regarded as a homogeneous group, particularly with regard to political perspectives.15 At this early 11  Cf., e.g., James D. G. Dunn, ed., Jews and Christians: The Parting of the Ways A. D. 70 to 135. The Second Durham Tübingen Research Symposium on Earliest Christianity and Judaism (Durham, September, 1989) (WUNT 66; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1992). See also Adam H. Becker and Annette Yoshiko Reed, eds., The Ways that Never Parted (TSAJ 95; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2003). 12  Lawrence H. Schiffman, “Early Judaism and Rabbinic Judaism,” in Early Judaism: A Comprehensive Overview (ed. John J. Collins and Daniel C. Harlow; Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 2012), 420–34 at 433. 13  Cf. Schiffman, “Early Judaism,” 420–21: “There is only one text from the Second Temple period that fell into the hands of the talmudic rabbis in its entirety: Ben Sira. Beyond that, they did not have, or perhaps did not want to read, the Dead Sea Scrolls or the writings that now comprise the Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha, nor the works of Philo or Josephus. This hiatus in culture, indeed an abyss from a literary point of view, remains largely unexplained . . . Still, that virtually nothing passed from Second Temple times to the talmudic era stands in stark contrast to the large body of Israelite literature that was transmitted to Second Temple Judaism.” 14  Schiffman, “Early Judaism,” 433. 15  See, e.g., Hayim Lapin, Rabbis as Romans: The Rabbinic Movement in Palestine, 100–400 CE (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012). On the Pharisees as a religious group see, e.g., Anthony J. Saldarini, Pharisees, Scribes and Sadducees in Palestinian Society: A Sociological Approach (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 2001); Jacob Neusner and Bruce Chilton, eds., In Quest of the Historical Pharisees (Waco, Tex.: Baylor University Press, 2007); see also Roland Deines, Jüdische Steingefäße und pharisäische Frömmigkeit (WUNT II/52; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1993); idem., Die Pharisäer: Ihr Verständnis im Spiegel der

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stage in the development of the pharisaic type of rabbinic Judaism between the wars, when texts like 4 Ezra, 2 Baruch, and 4 Baruch were produced, we cannot infer the situation of the Pharisees from the later Tannaitic perspective, which excluded those writings from their normative tradition. The latter are still in the midst of the formative process of Judaism and thus still part of the discourse, which is known to us mainly through writings of the Second Temple period. In this context, the fact that 4 Baruch was originally written in Greek16 and most probably in Jerusalem, i.e., in the homeland, becomes indeed significant for the identification of its function and purpose within the discourse about the future of the Jewish people. There is, on the one hand, the lasting relationship between Jerusalem and Palestine, and on the other hand a mostly Greek-speaking diaspora. The Hellenistic influence witnessed in 4 Baruch and particularly its Greek language17 reveal an attitude on the part of the author (or authors) that seems to be rather critical of contemporary attempts to reestablish a national Jewish identity closely related to the Hebrew tradition and to the temple—or rather the vision of a temple—in the homeland.18 3

The Significance of the Story and Its Characters

The precise dating and the identification of historical setting are not the only important issues towards an appropriate understanding of 4 Baruch. Generally speaking, one of the interesting questions regarding early Jewish writings is why such writings would have been produced. From which circles did these writings emerge? What are their objectives for what kind of audience? And why do they choose the particular genre? Who would ever read those christlichen und jüdischen Forschung seit Wellhausen und Graetz (WUNT 101; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1997). 16  See Berndt Schaller, “Is the Greek Version of the Paralipomena Jeremiou Original or a Translation?” JSP 22 (2000): 51–89. 17  For the significance of Greek in Jewish traditions see, e.g., Michael E. Stone, Ancient Judaism: New Visions and Views (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 2011), 172–85. 18  Some scholars propose that the original was written in Hebrew or Aramaic, cf. Gerhard Delling, Jüdische Lehre und Frömmigkeit in den Paralipomena Jeremiae (BZAW 100; Berlin: Töpelmann, 1967); Robinson, “4 Baruch.” This assumption, however, is not sufficiently supported by the text. So-called Hebraisms or Aramaisms do not provide an adequate criterion for the determination of the original language. The Greek style of 4 Baruch points merely to an author whose mother tongue was probably Hebrew or Aramaic and who deliberately choose Greek for his work, and it was shaped by the biblical Greek of the Septuagint, cf. Schaller, “Greek Version.”

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s­ ometimes quite lengthy tractates? In which contexts would they be used, and who would learn from them about his or her situation? Although such questions are most interesting, indeed, they pertain to the most uncertain and disputed issues in the research of early Jewish writings. Such questions also differentiate these writings from, e.g., prophetic writings of the Hebrew Bible like the book of Jeremiah because the message of the prophet seemed to be a frank and political one with a clear purpose, whereas in 4 Baruch his “proclaimed gospel” (cf. 3:15, 5:19)19 is a rather subtle message hidden in a story from the past. As time progresses and times change, it is more plausible to edit or update the message of a widely recognized prophet (“Fortschreibung”) than to create a new fictive story from scratch. Similarly, the more or less contemporary disputes of the rabbis about certain issues mirror a more or less direct theological and political discourse. Why, then, are there literary fictions like 4 Ezra, 2, 3 or 4 Baruch? For some of these writings, it is perhaps easier to give answers than for others (i.e., aspects of pseudonymity and canonicity, religious education, or even entertainment), but 4 Baruch belongs certainly to those others for which such determinations are quite difficult. Thus, besides a precise date, it is merely the overall perspective of the writing that is important for understanding the way in which 4 Baruch develops the idea of exile and return as well as the role that the prophet Jeremiah plays in this scenario. Even the title, 4 Baruch, refers to this perspective: τὰ παραλειπόμενα Ἰερεμίου τοῦ προφήτου, which means “the legacy/heritage of Jeremiah.”20 We do not know, of course, whether the book originally carried this title. From the perspective of reception, however, at least those who entitled the book this way saw in its message the ultimate word of the great prophet of doom for their own time. But what, then, is the message? In terms of genre, 4 Baruch is not a Christian apocalypse (as Rendel Harris 1889 proposed),21 but a rather typical haggadic Jewish narrative that retells the story of Jeremiah and the Babylonian exile of the Jewish people.22 Contemporary readers may view 4 Baruch and its narrative setting as a reflection of the last 50 years of their own recent history, 19  The numbering of chapters and verses in 4 Baruch follows Harris, Rest. 20  This is the title of the writing in the manuscripts A, B, and C. The Ethiopian version and some others read: “Rest of the words of Baruch not the apocryphal, concerning the time when they were in the Babylonian captivity.” See Herzer, 4 Baruch, 2 (apparatus). 21  Harris, Rest. 22  See Kaufmann Kohler, “The Pre-Talmudic Haggadah: I. B—The Second Baruch or rather the Jeremiah Apocalypse,” JQR 5 (1893): 407–19; Riaud, Paralipomènes, 85–87; Berndt Schaller, “Paralipomena Jeremiou,” JSHRZ I.8: 659–777, esp. 681–82.

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concerning the events of 70 ce and the after-effects that lead up to the Bar Kokhba crisis. Thus, in order to deliver his message, the author deliberately chooses the narrative genre and the three main characters of the book of Jeremiah as protagonists for his interests: Jeremiah the prophet, Baruch his companion, and Abimelech/Ebed-Melech the Ethiopian. 3.1 The Outline of the Story The plot of the story is rather simple and easy to follow. In order to describe its particular features regarding the reception of certain motifs from the Jeremiah tradition, a quick outline of the nine short chapters may be helpful. Chapter 1 introduces Jeremiah as the most prominent figure and offers a dialogue between the prophet and God that serves as an introduction to the story. God commands Jeremiah to take Baruch with him and to leave the city of Jerusalem because of its upcoming destruction by the Chaldeans, which according to God’s judgment is caused by the sins of the people—a well-known “Deuteronomistic” motif. Only when the prophet and his companion leave the city, God argues, would he be able to deliver it into the hands of the enemies, for otherwise the prayers of the righteous would hold back the judgment. In chapter 2, the lamenting Jeremiah encounters Baruch in the temple and explains to him what will soon happen and why it will happen. Then both men remain at the altar of the sanctuary and carry on crying. Chapter 3 is particularly important for the meaning of the story as a whole because it introduces the figure of “Abimelech the Ethiopian,” a character referring to the Judean official Ebed-Melech in the book of Jeremiah, who rescued the prophet from the pit (Jer 38:7–13). In something like a vision, at the prominent hour of midnight, Jeremiah and Baruch witness the capture of the city. Angels open its portals, and Jeremiah receives various commands from God that are important for the development of the plot. Jeremiah is to hide the vessels of the temple in the earth at the altar “until the return of the reunion of the beloved one” (3:8); he is to send Abimelech into “the vineyard of Agrippa” so that he might be protected “until I [i.e., God] will bring back the people into the city” (3:10). Finally, and surprisingly different than the biblical tradition, Jeremiah is to accompany the people to Babylon, “preaching to them good news until I bring them back into the city” (3:11). Baruch for his part shall remain in the city (3:12). The chapter closes with Jeremiah sending Abimelech into the vineyard, explaining to him and commanding him to collect figs for “the sick among the people” (3:15). In chapter 4, the story turns back to the issue of destruction. While the Chaldeans conquer the city and begin to lead the people to Babylon, Jeremiah delivers the keys of the temple to the sun “until the day on which the Lord will

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ask you for them” (4:3). As it was announced in chapter 3, Jeremiah joins his people in the deportation to Babylon, whereas Baruch remains in Jerusalem, lamenting and sitting in a tomb (4:11). The episode of Abimelech’s sleep in chapter 5 has no equivalent in the Jeremiah tradition, but in 4 Baruch it represents the center of the book, binding together the time of exile and the time of return.23 After collecting the figs according to Jeremiah’s instruction, Abimelech falls asleep for 66 years. Despite the length of his sleep, after his awakening he finds the figs in the basket still fresh. When he returns to the city, he does not recognize it. In his disorientation he meets an old man who rejoices in the fresh figs and explains to Abimelech that the figs’ preservation for 66 years is a symbol for the exile: like a (terrible) dream having passed, the exile has come to an end, and the people’s return is announced. At the same time, the Abimelech story allows a reading not only on the surface level of the narration, but also makes the story meaningful on a deeper level with regard to individual hopes as well.24 Abimelech receives a prophecy from the old man that God may lead him by his light into “the city above, Jerusalem” (5:34), which indicates the expectation of a heavenly Jerusalem beyond the people’s hope of returning to the earthly city in their homeland.25 Chapters 6 and 7 support the link between collective fate and individual expectation further. Upon returning to the city, Abimelech meets Baruch, who explicitly interprets the fresh figs not only as a sign for the return of the people but also as an expression of hope for the individual resurrection of the flesh (6:6–7). Baruch writes a letter to Jeremiah announcing the end of exile, and (in chapter 7) has an eagle deliver it together with 15 figs from Abimelech’s basket to Babylon. Upon its arrival, the eagle raises a dead man that was about to be buried. This peculiar scene also links the end of exile to the hope of individual resurrection. Jeremiah sends the eagle back to Baruch with a letter in which he recapitulates the afflictions of exile. In preparation of the return, Jeremiah teaches the people to obey the law and “to abstain from the defilement of the Gentiles of Babylon” (7:32). 23  See Jean Riaud, “Abimélech, Personnage-Clé des Paralipomena Jeremiae?” DHA 7 (1981): 163–78. 24  See, e.g., Jean Riaud, “ ‘Le Puissant t’emportera dans ta tente’: La Destinée ultime du juste selon les Paralipomena Jeremiae Prophetae,” in Hellenica et Judaica: Hommage à Valentin Nikiprowetzky (ed. André Caquot, Mireille Hadas-Lebel, and Jean Riaud; Leiden: Peeters, 1986), 257–65. 25  See Christian Wolff, “Irdisches und himmlisches Jerusalem: Die Heilshoffnung in den Paralipomena Jeremiae,” ZNW 82 (1991): 147–58.

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Chapter 8 takes up the well-known postexilic motif of mixed marriages (cf. Ezra 9 and 10, Neh 13:23–31). The story of the return is told here as a controversy over this problem that leads to the foundation of Samaria by those who are disobedient and unwilling to leave their non-Jewish spouses. As another important and surprising feature of 4 Baruch, the Samaritans still have the option to come to Jerusalem as demonstrated by a promise of Jeremiah: “Repent, because the angel of righteousness is coming, and he will lead you to your exalted place” (8:9).26 Chapter 9 concludes the story by narrating a sacrifice on the Day of Atonement (Yom Kippur) and an extended prayer of Jeremiah. In his prayer, Jeremiah focuses on “Michael, the archangel of righteousness, until he leads in the righteous” (9:5). Having finished the prayer, Jeremiah dies at the altar, leaving behind Abimelech and Baruch mourning. The actual ending of the book in 9:10–32 has been added by Christian circles that were clearly influenced by Johannine traditions.27 This passage transforms Jeremiah into a prophet of the Messiah, announcing the coming of Jesus Christ (9:13–14), and reveals “the secrets” (9:22) to Baruch and Abimelech. Some have proposed the beginning of the Christian ending in 8:9 because of the positive attitude to the Samaritans,28 yet this idea also fits with a Jewish perspective. Finally, the death of Jeremiah is retold, but in its Christian version as a stoning by the people, which adapts the tradition of the martyrdom of Isaiah.29 3.2 Intertextual Aspects of the Story What makes this story interesting for the reader—already familiar with the biblical narrative—are the deviations from the tradition, especially changes from and additions to the known Jeremiah story. It is obvious that the story recalls a well-known period of Jewish history. But at the same time, an educated reader would certainly recognize that the narrative told in 4 Baruch is not identical with the features of history known from the biblical tradition. He or she would also recognize surprising elements, leading to the points of inter-

26  Cf. Jean Riaud, “Les Samaritains dans les ‘Paralipomena Jeremiae,’ ” in La Littérature Intertestamentaire. Colloque de Strasbourg 1983 (ed. André Caquot; Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1985), 133–53. 27  See Herzer, 4 Baruch, 152–54; Heininger, “Totenerweckung,” esp. 110. 28  See Robinson, “4 Baruch.” 29   See Jean Riaud, “Jérémie, martyr chrétien: Paralipomènes de Jérémie, XI, 7–32,” in κεχαριτωμéνη. Mélanges R. Laurentin (Paris: Desclée, 1990), 231–35; Herzer, Paralipomena, 159–76; Schaller, “Paralipomena,” 754–55.

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est, which let him or her understand their own situation from the perspective of this narrative. There are at least two aspects that are important with regard to our investigation of the reception of the Jeremiah tradition. Firstly, 4 Baruch refers to events narrated in the book of Jeremiah. It is also clear that it tells the story of exile and return in a way that cannot be found anywhere in the biblical tradition. In terms of the overall plot, it depends on the structure of 2 Baruch,30 and thus, 2 Baruch represents an important counterpart of the diaspora-homeland discourse of 4 Baruch. Secondly, despite the clear reference to the biblical book of Jeremiah, 4 Baruch construes a fictional scenery, and for this purpose enhances the tradition by various motifs taken from various sources.31 We must, however, acknowledge that these aspects are primarily important for our reading and understanding of 4 Baruch, and not necessarily essential for the first readers to understand the story and its message. This consideration would also imply the question of who might have been the actual participants or even parties in that discourse? This question raises a serious methodological problem. Written texts cannot communicate by themselves, they are at best catalysts of an otherwise unknown exchange of ideas by real humans. In the retrospective reception, these ideas are only accessible through the texts they have generated. One example for such a discursive process might be rabbinical discussions like the one between Johanan ben Toreta and Akiva quoted above, but even those are only accessible in written documents and thus as constructs of a certain time with a certain purpose. When it comes to writings from the Second Temple period like 4 Ezra, 2 Baruch, 4 Baruch, and the like, the obvious relation between them is mainly established by their shared reference to the same historical period. Yet, the way in which they may witness to a certain discourse on their actual situation and represent different positions within this discourse is a matter of active construction on the part of the reader. In the investigation of the reception of the book of Jeremiah, we usually search for quotations, allusions, and the like. I have already mentioned that 4 Baruch retells the story of Jeremiah and his people in a new and original way. In pure literary terms, however, its dependence on 2 Baruch is more important than its relationship to the book of Jeremiah. But in the perception of the contemporary reader, the dependency on 2 Baruch does not play a significant role, for this reader would certainly first refer to his or her memory of Jeremiah 30  See Herzer, Paralipomena, 33–77; idem, 4 Baruch, xvi–xxiii. See, however, Jean Riaud, “Les Paralipomena Jeremiae dépendent-ils de II Baruch?” Sileno-Anno 9 (1983): 105–28. 31  See Herzer, Paralipomena, 78–158; idem, 4 Baruch, xxiii–xxx.

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from the biblical tradition. Thus, we should differentiate in 4 Baruch between the author’s literary technique in creating a story in direct reference to another writing of the time on the one hand, and the contemporary reader’s perspective in perceiving the story against the backdrop of his or her knowledge of the biblical tradition. For the purpose of this paper, I will not analyze the significant literary relationship to 2 Baruch,32 but rather elaborate the perception and transformation of topics from the Jeremiah tradition by concentrating on a few examples that are significant for the question of reception. 1. Different from its Vorlage in 2 Baruch, in 4 Baruch the prophet takes on much more significance. Whereas in 2 Baruch Jeremiah is only rarely mentioned, and his scribe Baruch undoubtedly becomes the main character to whom God speaks and reveals apocalyptic mysteries, in 4 Baruch Jeremiah is the protagonist of the plot as a whole. He receives the message of doom from God (1:1–3). He negotiates with God about the fate of the people (1:4–11), the temple vessels (3:3–8), and Abimelech, the Ethiopian (3:9–10); he receives the mandate to accompany the people into the Babylonian exile (3:11). He also is the one who locks the temple and entrusts its keys to the sun (4:3–4). Furthermore, Jeremiah teaches the people the law in captivity in order to prepare their return (3:11; 7:16–32), and he is the one that leads the people back into the city on God’s command (8:1–8). Finally, Jeremiah celebrates a sacrifice at Yom Kippur that opens the people’s perspective towards the eschatological salvation (9:1–6). Thus, in 4 Baruch the story hinges on the prophet.33 Baruch, his companion, is introduced only in connection with the prophet, receiving a mediating function in the period of exile, which he spends sitting in a tomb (4:11). Recognizing the difference from 2 Baruch with regard to the main characters, we may conclude that the shift from Baruch to Jeremiah as the leading character in 4 Baruch is significant for the message of the writing.34 It is the prophet’s own authority that is needed to deliver the message. The significance of this perspective is underlined by the notion of the prophet’s and his companion’s 32  Cf. note 31. For a comprehensive analysis of 2 Baruch see Henze, Apocalypticism. 33  See Jean Riaud, “The figure of Jeremiah in the Paralipomena Jeremiae Prophetae: His Originality; His ‘Christianisation’ by the Christian Author of the Conclusion (9.10–32),” JSP 22 (2000): 31–44. 34  Cf. Jean Riaud, “La figure de Jérémie dans les Paralipomena Jeremiae,” in Mélanges bibliques et orientaux en l’honneur de M. Henri Cazelles (ed. André Caquot and Mathias Delcor; AOAT 212; Kevelaer: Butzon & Bercker and Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1981), 373–85.

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prayers as a “solid pillar” within the city and “an iron wall surrounding it” (1:2), a motif that certainly adapts and transforms Jer 1:18, where the prophet himself is called “a fortified city and a bronze wall.”35 The parallel in 2 Bar. 2:2 shows that the weight of the assertion in 4 Baruch again shifts from Baruch to Jeremiah.36 The Ethiopic version of 4 Baruch emphasizes this point by relating the prayers to Jeremiah only. Thus Jeremiah, who accordingly is reckoned prominently by God as his elected one (1:4), has a twofold function. This function is certainly derived from the biblical tradition and develops a perspective different from 2 Baruch: Jeremiah is the priestly intercessor for his people, and he becomes its teacher of the law during exile. Interestingly, though, the priestly function of Jeremiah is concentrated on Jerusalem (chapter 1–4: Jeremiah’s prayers and his negotiations with God; chapter 9: the offering and the prayer), whereas the teaching of the law focuses on the situation in exile. The portrait of Jeremiah as teacher of the law runs like a common thread through the story of exile from its preparation until the end. Remarkably, the prophet’s characterization in 4 Baruch follows a postexilic Fortschreibung already found in the book of Jeremiah according to which the prophet also becomes a teacher of the law, a perspective that was clearly present in the early reception of the prophetic voice.37 2. What renders this twofold perspective on the prophet as a priest and a teacher of the law so striking is the fact that, different from the biblical tradition, Jeremiah does not remain in Jerusalem (Jer 40:1–6) until disappearing in Egypt (Jer 43:5–7; cf. 2 Kgs 25:26, although Jeremiah is neither mentioned here nor in the whole Deuteronomistic History),38 but instead accompanies his people to Babylon. According to Jer 43:6–7, Baruch was also taken captive to Egypt like Jeremiah, whereas in 4 Baruch he remains in the vicinity of the city. This change of otherwise well-known traditions in the depiction of the characters and their mutual relations reveals various aspects about the author’s intention: The variations, first of all, witness to a confident freedom in the use of traditions, but more significantly they broach the observance of the law as the most important condition for overcoming the exile. In situating the prophet of doom himself in exile, the author authorizes this particular 35  See Christl M. Maier, “Jeremiah as YHWH’s Stronghold (Jer 1:18),” VT 63 (2014): 640–53. 36  See Herzer, 4 Baruch, 47–48. 37  See Christl M. Maier, Jeremia als Lehrer der Tora: Soziale Gebote des Deuteronomiums in Fortschreibungen des Jeremiabuches (FRLANT 196; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2002). 38  Cf. Christian Wolff, Jeremia im Frühjudentum und Urchristentum (TU 118; Berlin: Akademie-Verlag, 1976), 2–6.

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perspective of exile and the teaching of the law outside of both Jerusalem and the homeland.39 Furthermore, by separating Jeremiah and Baruch in terms of their locations, the author creates an opportunity for an interesting exchange about the people’s situation and hope between Jeremiah in the diaspora and Baruch in the homeland. This intention is emphasized by the exchange of letters between Baruch and the prophet. The tradition of such correspondence is found in Jeremiah’s letter sent to Babylon (Jer 29) as well as in the long letter of Baruch to Babylon in 2 Bar. 78–87.40 4 Baruch, however, turns the orientation of both letters towards Babylon into a correspondence between Baruch and Jeremiah, between Jerusalem or the homeland and the diaspora.41 3. There are many details in this correspondence that closely relate to various biblical traditions,42 yet here I will only discuss the end of the correspondence. After Jeremiah’s answer to Baruch, the passage closes with a simple remark, which is somehow unexpected after all the excitement about the announcement of the return in chapters 5–7: “And he continued to teach them to abstain from the defilement of the Gentiles of Babylon” (7:32). This short remark finalizes a number of aspects that characterize life in exile as a time of depression and punishment and lead beyond the solely positive tone of Jer 29. People are already dying in exile (4 Bar. 7:14–15), and the exiles are relying on prayers in Jerusalem (7:23, 28). The situation is one of grief and punishment (7:24–26), and remembering the feasts in Jerusalem causes pain and weeping (7:27): by quoting Ps 137, diaspora is rendered a “foreign country” (7:29). 4. Leaving aside for a moment chapter 8 on the Samaritans, the mention of the return of the people into the city is also unexpectedly short, reduced to 39  See, e.g., Lutz Doering, “Jeremia in Babylonien und Ägypten: Mündliche und schriftliche Toraparänese für Exil und Diaspora nach 4Q Apocryphon of Jeremiah C,” in Frühjudentum und Neues Testament im Horizont Biblischer Theologie: Mit einem Anhang zum Corpus Judaeo-Hellenisticum Novi Testamenti (ed. Wolfgang Kraus and Karl Wilhelm Niebuhr unter Mitarbeit von Lutz Doering; WUNT 162; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2003), 50–79. 40  See Henze, Apocalypticism, 350–71; Lutz Doering, Ancient Jewish Letters and the Beginnings of Christian Epistolography (WUNT 298; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2012), 241–53. 41  For the genre of diaspora letters see Lutz Doering, “Jeremiah and the ‘Diaspora Letters’ in Ancient Judaism: Epistolary Communication with the Golah as Medium for Dealing with the Present,” in Reading the Present in the Qumran Library: The Perception of the Contemporary by Means of Scriptural Interpretation (ed. Kristin De Troyer and Armin Lange, SBLSymS 30; Atlanta: SBL, 2005), 43–72; idem, Ancient Jewish Letters, esp. 253–62. 42  See, e.g., Jens Herzer, “Alttestamentliche Traditionen in den Paralipomena Jeremiae als Beispiel für den Umgang frühjüdischer Schriftsteller mit ‘Heiliger Schrift,’ ” in Schriftauslegung im Antiken Judentum und Urchristentum (ed. Martin Hengel and Hermut Löhr; WUNT 73; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1994), 114–32.

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only another unspectacular remark in 8:5: “They crossed the Jordan and came to Jerusalem.” In Jerusalem, Jeremiah celebrates a final offering and dies suddenly at the altar with an enigmatic prayer on his lips about the archangel Michael, who shall “lead in the righteous ones” (9:5). In fact, as the narrative closes, the prayer itself becomes the sacrifice, for nothing else of the sacrifice is mentioned.43 This puzzling prayer corresponds to some other features of the story that connect its beginning with the end. Any reader will notice the tension between Jeremiah’s serious concern for the vessels and keys of the temple in the first chapters, and their astonishing omission at the end of the story.44 The disposal of the holy vessels in the earth is a common motif found in 2 Baruch and 4 Baruch, which is not found in the book of Jeremiah. According to Jer 28:3, 6, the vessels are brought to Babylon, but the promise has already been given that they will return to Jerusalem. From the perspective of 2 Baruch, the vessels are protected by the earth, which will give them back at the time when the destroyed temple will be restored (2 Bar. 6:3–10). Thus, 2 Baruch does in fact still expect the temple to be restored, although it does not, after all, indicate that this will happen in a near future. In 4 Baruch, however, the return of the vessels is postponed until the eschatological future: “until the gathering of the beloved one” (ἕως τῆς συνελεύσεως τοῦ ἠγαπημένου, 3:8). It is clear that this gathering has not yet happened when Jeremiah and only a part of the people return to the city because the vessels are not an issue at all when Jeremiah delivers his 43  This feature of the story is significant especially with regard to texts like, e.g., 1QS IX, 4–5, in which also the prayer of the community appears as a replacement of the sacrifice in the Temple, cf. Georg Klinzing, Die Umdeutung des Kultes in der Qumrangemeinde und im Neuen Testament (SUNT 7; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1971), and the still seminal study of Hans Wenschkewitz, Die Spiritualisierung der Kultusbegriffe: Tempel, Priester und Opfer im Neuen Testament (Angelos Beihefte 4; Leipzig: Pfeiffer, 1932), but also the critical assessment by, e.g., Friedrich Wilhelm Horn, Das Angeld des Geistes: Studien zur paulinischen Pneumatologie (FRLANT 154; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1992), esp. 70–72; Karl-Heinrich Ostmeyer, Kommunikation mit Gott und Christus: Sprache und Theologie des Gebetes im Neuen Testament (WUNT 197; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck 2006), esp. 4–6. For the meaning of prayer in Qumran, cf. Bilhah Nitzan, Qumran Prayer and Religious Poetry (STDJ 12; Leiden: Brill, 1994), esp. 47–49 and 282–96 (on the Songs of the Sabbath Sacrifice); on prayer as a substitute for sacrifice, see also Lawrence H. Schiffman, Reclaiming the Dead Sea Scrolls: The History of Judaism, the Background of Christianity, the Lost Library of Qumran (ABRL; New York: Doubleday, 1994), 289–312, esp. 299; cf. idem, “Community without Temple: The Qumran Community’s Withdrawal from the Jerusalem Temple,” in Gemeinde ohne Tempel, 267–84; Esther Eshel, “Prayer in Qumran and the Synagogue,” in Gemeinde ohne Tempel, 323–34; see also Florentino García Martinez, “Priestly Functions in a Community without Temple,” in Gemeinde ohne Tempel, 303–22. 44  Cf., on contrary, Bar 1:8, where at least the return of the vessels is announced.

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“spiritual” offering. Yet, the “gathering of the beloved one” does also not refer to the Messiah as “the beloved one,” as some would argue.45 In the context of 4 Baruch, it instead refers to the people who will be gathered in the heavenly city. This gathering of the people is still to be expected at an unknown time in the future, not least because it will also include the Samaritans. Therefore, the return to the earthly Jerusalem noted in 8:5 cannot not yet be regarded as the final homecoming of the people. It has only and at most a preliminary status— without temple. Consequently, neither are the keys of the temple mentioned again at the end of the story. Although, or rather because, Jeremiah already celebrates a sacrifice in Jerusalem, these features can only indicate that the temple has not yet been restored and will not be restored in the foreseeable future. The fact that the Samaritans also receive the promise to be lead “to your exalted place” by the same angel of righteousness (8:9) as the people of Jerusalem may underline the eschatological dimension of the homecoming to Jerusalem. The issue of the vessels and the keys of the temple, the Samaritan problem, and finally Jeremiah’s “spiritual” sacrifice and death at the altar—all these unsolved features lead to the conclusion that in the author’s perspective the return from exile to Jerusalem can only be a preliminary one and that expectations for a restoration of the temple will fail. The more important expectation is the hope of being led into the eschatological city. 5. Finally, in the core of the narrative, the Abimelech story in chapter 5 allows for the intertwining of the universal hope for the people with an individual hope that is also directed toward the expectation of a heavenly city, when Abimelech receives the promise that God will lead him “by his light” into “the city above, Jerusalem” (5:34). The controversy about the expectation of the restoration of the temple and its cult in Jerusalem has thus transformed into an individual hope for a heavenly city, in which the people will find its “rest” (ἀνάπαυσις, 5:32). The topos of an eschatological heavenly Jerusalem is not a specific Christian idea,46 but it has been developed as a strong eschatological hope in early Jewish thinking at this time.47 Thus, the overall narrative strategy of the Abimelech story connects different motifs and traditions from within 45  See, e.g., George D. Kilpatrick, “Acts VII.52 ΕΛΕΥΣΙΣ,” JTS 46 (1945): 136–45, see however, Herzer, 4 Baruch, 62–63. 46  See for this position, e.g., Bogaert, Apocalypse de Baruch, 1: 211–12. 47  See Wolff, “Himmlisches Jerusalem,” esp. 149; references are, e.g., 2 Bar. 4:1–6; 4 Ezra 7:26; 8:52; 9:38–10:54; 13:36; 1 En. 90:28–36; T. Dan 5:12; Jos. Asen. 8:9–10; 15:7; 17:6; 22:13; but see also Rev 21:2–4 and not least Gal 4:26; see Herzer, 4 Baruch, 95–99. Cf. also Beate Ego, Im Himmel wie auf Erden: Studien zum Verhältnis von himmlischer und irdischer Welt im rabbinischen Judentum (WUNT II/34; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1989), esp. 146–47.

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and outside the book of Jeremiah: First is the character of Ebed-Melech, who rescued Jeremiah from the pit (Jer 38:7–13) and who himself received a prophecy that he would be rescued through the catastrophe (Jer 39:16–18). Second are an adaptation of the vision of the fig baskets (Jer 24) and the motif from Ps 126:1 of the exile going by like a dream. There are also traditions of longlasting sleeps like the sleep of Epimenides of Crete (who slept for 57 years; cf. Diogenes Laertius 1.10.109–10)48 or Choni the Circle-Drawer (y. Ta‘anit 3:9; see also with less significant parallels b. Ta‘anit 23a).49 While, for example, in Jer 24 the vision of the two baskets of figs indicates a division among the people, in 4 Baruch the motif of the “fresh figs” indicates the end of the exile and the good news of the return for the people as a whole. At the same time however, it functions as a symbol for the hope for individual resurrection (Jer 24:5–7; cf. 4 Bar. 5–6), illustrated by the prospective towards the heavenly Jerusalem. 4

Conclusion: Jeremiah as an Authoritative Voice in the Diaspora Discourse

In my short résumé, I return to at least one of the questions raised above: Why would someone write a story like this? It is the story of Jeremiah and his companions Baruch and Abimelech, and at the same time it is not. It is the story of the exile of the people, and at the same time it is not. In a surprising manner, it is indeed a unique and original story, which in my view hints at the intense inner-Jewish discourse about the future of the Jewish people with regard to the hopes of a possible restoration of the temple and its cult, about the possibly lasting challenge of a twofold existence of the Jews in the diaspora and the 48  See Moses Gaster, “Beiträge zur vergleichenden Sagen- und Märchenkunde. XI: Choni hamagel,” MGWJ 20. NS 13 (1881): 78–82, 130–38, 368–74, 413–23; see also Herzer, Para­ lipomena, 97–98. 49  See Herzer, Paralipomena, 92–96. An interesting parallel can also be found in 1 Enoch 100:5–6: “He will set a guard of holy angels over all the righteous and holy ones, and they shall keep them as the apple of the eye until all evil and all sin are brought to an end. From that time on the righteous ones shall sleep a restful sleep, and there shall be no one to make them afraid. Then the wise people shall see, and the sons of the earth shall give heed to all the words of this book. They shall know that their wealth shall not be able to save them at the place where their sins shall collapse” (translation quoted from Ephraim Isaac, “1 [Ethiopic Apocalypse of] Enoch [Second Century BC–First Century AD]: A New Translation and Introduction,” in Apocalyptic Literature and Testaments [vol. 1 of The Old Testament Pseudepi­grapha; ed. James H. Charlesworth; New York: Doubleday, 1983], 5–89 at 81).

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homeland, and not least about the meaning of the law for the consolidation of Jewish identity without the temple as the integrating center.50 The discourse even continues in the Christian redaction, which I deliberately skipped in this article.51 The insistence on the law is a striking thread throughout the story of the exile in 4 Baruch, and it appears to be a position that is characteristic at least for a certain branch of Pharisaism of the time between 70 and 135 ce, a position that is stated poignantly in 2 Bar. 85:3: But now, the righteous have been assembled, and the prophets are sleeping. Also we have left our land, and Zion has been taken away from us, and we have nothing now apart from the Mighty One and his Law.52 Correcting or transforming the idea of the sleeping prophets by presenting Jeremiah as teacher of the law during the long time of exile, 4 Baruch thus advances its final perspective of the people’s salvation. The book even defines the teaching of the law as a “proclamation of the good news” (3:11, 5:21), and locates this proclamation most prominently in the diaspora, not in the homeland, where the new identity formation of Judaism took place according to the rabbinical tradition. 4 Baruch may perhaps also be seen as a critical assessment of this formation process, introducing the voice of a different perspective by focusing on the diaspora. Admittedly, however, the focus on the law and the consolidating of Judaism after 70 ce were still accompanied by messianic hopes for political freedom from the Roman Empire, which finally cumulated in the Bar-Kokhba-War (132–35 ce) and its prospective of the temple’s restoration. Thus, 4 Baruch represents either an—in the end—unheard voice within this process, or it already reflects its outcome, trying to come to terms with the fact that the temple will remain lost. In this situation, Jeremiah is the only prophet that can raise his voice against unreasonable expectations in the aftermath of the temple’s destruction. In his time, he was not only the prophet of doom, but already the teacher of the law. As a result, his voice can still be heard. By emphasizing God’s law as the only way to the salvation of the people without the temple, by promoting 50  See, e.g., the comprehensive volume Ego et al., eds., Gemeinde ohne Tempel; see Henze, Apocalypticism, 362–64. 51  See, however, Herzer, 4 Baruch, 150–57; and more extensively Heininger, “Totenerweckung.” 52  Translation quoted from Albertus F. J. Klijn, “2 (Syriac Apocalypse of) Baruch (early Second Century AD): A New Translation and Introduction,” in Apocalyptic Literature and Testaments (vol. 1 of The Old Testament Pseudepigrapha; ed. James H. Charlesworth; New York: Doubleday, 1983), 615–52 at 651.

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the idea of individual hope in the resurrection of the flesh, and by proclaiming the expectation of a heavenly Jerusalem, the author of 4 Baruch reacts to the pressing issues of his time. By retelling the story of exile in this significant way, he impresses the idea upon the Jewish people that the diaspora existence will remain a situation that has to be integrated into the new identity of Judaism without temple. Salvation—individually as well as collectively—can only be expected from God (4 Bar. 6:13–22; 8:1–2), who will in the end gather his people in the heavenly Jerusalem. The signpost on the way to the “upper city Jerusalem” is, however, the light of God’s law (5:34).53

53  See Jens Herzer, “Direction in Difficult Times: How God is understood in the Paraleipomena Jeremiou,” JSP 22 (2000): 9–30.

Chapter 34

The Eagle and the Basket of Figs in 4 Baruch. A Response to Jens Herzer Robin D. Young Philo of Alexandria was long dead when another Greek-speaking Jewish author tried to interpret Jeremiah. This author also wrote for a Greek-speaking community, presumably in Judea, not Egypt. There were certain similarities of viewpoint: both saw Jeremiah as a transformed and transforming figure—not just a representative (prophetes) of God, but something like a mystagogos. Both writers considered Jeremiah a prophet and a priest, and also the guardian of sacred mysteries hidden to all but the members of a small circle of initiates. My response to the paper of Jens Herzer proposes that Philo and the author of 4 Baruch both wrote from within the bounds of a lively Hellenistic Judaism that, far from being doomed after 70, lasted well into late antiquity in Judea/ Palestine, and that the vitality of 4 Baruch’s community may well be reflected in the ongoing creativity of the Greek-speaking community in the province.1 Of Jeremiah, Philo wrote in On the Cherubim 49 that he himself had passed from the tutelage of Moses to the school of Jeremiah: For I myself, having been initiated in the great mysteries by Moses, the friend of God, nevertheless, when subsequently I beheld Jeremiah the prophet, and learned that he was not only initiated into the sacred mysteries, but was also a competent hierophant or expounder of them, did not hesitate to become his pupil. Long ago E. R. Goodenough pointed out the importance of Jeremiah for Philo because Philo thought that Jeremiah spoke an oracle ἐκ προσώπου τοῦ θεοῦ, a result of his enrollment in the prophetic-mystic circle: τοῦ προφητικοῦ θιασώτης

1  Although few written texts remain from the Greek-speaking Judaism of late antiquity in the Mediterranean littoral, abundant archaeological remains attest to its presence: see the discussion in Seth Schwartz, Imperialism and Jewish Society, 200 BCE to 640 CE (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2001) and Dominique Barthélemy, Etudes d’histoire du texte de l’Ancien Testament (Fribourg: Editions Universitaires, 1978).

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χοροῦ.2 Jeremiah signaled both the means and the end of prophecy because he was a qualified to speak with the voice of God to the wisdom that could still inform the people whom he chastised: And he, like a man very much under the influence of inspiration, uttered an oracle in the character of God, speaking in this manner to most peaceful virtue: “Have you not called me as your house, and your father, and the husband of your virginity?”(Jer 3:4 LXX: οὐχ ᾽ὠς οἰκόν με ἐκλεσας καὶ πατέρα καὶ ἀρχηγοὸν τῆς παρθενίας σου;) For Philo, Jeremiah’s question to Jerusalem was the occasion for an extended interpretation that yielded the universal significance of the three titles for God. It also provided the example of the prophet as an apt friend and dialoguepartner with God since he show[ed] by this expression in the clearest way that God is both a “house”—the incorporeal abode of incorporeal ideas; and the Father of all things—since it is he who has created them; and the husband of wisdom—sowing for the race of mankind the seed of happiness in good and virgin soil. For it is fitting for God to converse with an unpolluted and untouched and pure nature, in truth and reality virgin, in a different manner from that in which we converse with such. Although Jeremiah was not Moses, he was still a friend of God and could lead to God those who undertook an education in the mysteries. There are, of course, differences between the two texts and their authors. Although Philo wrote in Alexandria, interpreting the scriptures of the Septuagint through a platonic philosophical tradition expressed in treatises and commentaries, but the author of 4 Baruch wrote presumably in Judea and in a genre that combines prophecy/apocalyptic, haggadah, and the format of the letter, with symbols abounding. Nonetheless, the distance between Philo and our author is not as large as it might seem. First, and most obviously, each author wrote in Greek, and therefore must have undergone the common pedagogy of Greek speakers, absorbing grammar, rhetoric and philosophy—an education that undergirded the literary work of Hellenistic Judaism. Second, each author cherished prophecy and Scripture,

2  E. R. Goodenough, By Light, Light: The Mystic Gospel of Hellenistic Judaism (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1935), 76, 231.

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and used the Septuagint—presumably as inspired writing. And third, each presented himself as communicating with the earlier prophets. Yet nearly a century separates the two authors; and while Philo may have feared for the future of Judea and its Temple, the author of 4 Baruch—like the apocalyptic-eschatological works that precede it (4 Ezra, Revelation, 2 Baruch)—was fully aware of the destruction that came in consequence of the Jewish War. And furthermore, unlike Philo, he may well have known of the growth of a group that claimed Jesus of Nazareth as the anointed restorer of Israel and proposed to offer an alternative to it. In other words, for Jewish authors writing in Greek, the field of interpretation had shifted drastically since Philo—and like 4 Ezra and 2 Baruch, our author might well have been aware of developing Christian haggadah and halakah. Such an awareness would explain both an apparent opposition to contemporary Christian ideas observable in the text, and it would also explain the Christian additions that made it possible to adopt easily the work into Christian libraries, after all. In 4 Baruch, Jeremiah undergoes another transformation from his first literary presentation as preexilic prophet of judgment. The later book of Daniel had already adapted Jeremiah’s prophecies to its much later situation, under an oppressive Seleucid monarchy. But 4 Baruch retained Jeremiah’s prophetic activities while at the same time making him the founder of a new community—one entirely without any expectation for a new temple, yet with a continuing and strong connection between the diaspora and the homeland of Judea. As for Philo, Judea was the site of regeneration and revelation, as the plot of 4 Baruch makes clear. Jens Herzer’s masterly essay situates the work’s production and summarizes its narrative. According to Herzer, 4 Baruch participates in the well-known debate between the positions of two early rabbis: Johanan ben Zakkai, representing the legacy of the Sanhedrin, and Rabbi Akiva, who “regarded Bar Kokhba as the Messiah.”3 The apocalypses mentioned above, along with the early Christian writings of the first century ce, demonstrate the longevity and durability of messianic hopes among first-century Jews; however, the identity and character of the Messiah was still being debated. Along with these arguments went a dispute about the value of the Greek tradition for Judaism, regardless of the Messiah’s identity; thus neither 4 Baruch and its somewhat older contemporary 4 Maccabees show an interest in the Messiah; both are composed in Greek; both celebrate Jewish heroes; both reinterpret earlier

3  Jens Herzer, “Retelling the Story of Exile: The Reception of the Jeremiah Tradition in 4 Baruch in the Perspective of the Jewish Diaspora,” in this volume, 375.

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battles, despite their marked differences in other respects. Herzer maintains that 4 Baruch is a product of Judea: [T]he fact that 4 Baruch was originally written in Greek and most probably in Jerusalem, i.e., in the homeland, becomes indeed significant for the identification of its function and purpose within the discourse about the future of the Jewish people . . . [the] attitude on the part of the author (or authors) . . . seems to be rather critical of contemporary attempts to re-establish a national Jewish identity closely related to the Hebrew tradition and to the temple—or rather the vision of a temple—in the homeland.4 Thus the work, composed before the disastrous rebellion of 132–135 ce, represents a point of view that disappeared abruptly once Hadrian’s victory was sealed with the imposition of the new, and Roman name: Aelia Capitolina. In addition to its now-obsolete point of view, its composition in Greek ensured that 4 Baruch would be rejected in the reconstituted Jewish community, even while it was preserved and recopied—with minimal adjustments—in the Christian tradition. There it, like the Ascension of Isaiah and other Second Temple works, could be reinterpreted according to context and to language tradition into which it passed. For most biblical scholars, however, the text is of interest not in its receptionhistory, but as a measure of Jeremianic tradition, where it stands in contrast with both the canonical book of Jeremiah and the apocalypse of 2 Baruch. In its primary reception, despite its relationship to the latter, Herzer asserts, readers would have compared it with “[their] memory of Jeremiah from the biblical tradition.” If they did so, they would have noticed the return of Jeremiah to prominence, even though details of his life differed significantly from those recorded in canonical Jeremiah. First, this text restores Jeremiah to central significance; unlike 2 Baruch, it is Jeremiah who speaks directly with God. The prophet speaks about the people of Israel, the temple vessels, and Abimelech, as well as the custodianship of the temple. In doing so he assumes a position of leadership in guiding the people to the place of exile and in the return. Along with his role as a teacher, he takes on a priestly role in offering a sacrifice at Yom Kippur. It is interesting to note that, whether or not the author had access to Philo, he has approximated Philo’s understanding of Jeremiah as hierophant and teacher. 4  Herzer, “Retelling,” 378.

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Herzer’s second observation is that, whereas in canonical Jeremiah Baruch accompanies his prophet into captivity, in 4 Baruch he remains in the city, creating the opportunity for correspondence between diaspora and Jerusalem. Baruch perhaps retains something of his later significance, however, because he also is pictured as dwelling in a tomb and instructed by an angel. Third, Baruch becomes a correspondent with Jeremiah in exile—wherein the reader learns of the exile as a place of sadness, punishment, and death. In this text, the exile is a “foreign country” and not a place where prosperity can occur for the exiles. Yet the portrayal of this correspondence as miraculous— carried out by a talking eagle—surely relieves the exile of some of its gloom if only because it becomes the site of extraordinary divine care. Herzer’s fourth point has to do with the absence of the temple from the end of the narrative: “Although or rather because Jeremiah already celebrates a sacrifice in Jerusalem, these features can only indicate that the temple has not yet been restored and will not be restored in the measurable future.” Here it would be worth comparing 4 Baruch’s point of view with strands in the Acts of the Apostles, the Shepherd of Hermas, or the Letter of Barnabas. Though explicitly written from the point of view of Jesus-Messianism, all three worried about the afterlife of the temple: Acts is ambivalent, Hermas is metaphorical, and Barnabas carries on a polemic against the temple that can suggest only a situation in which a community (in Alexandria?) was strongly attached to it. The Abimelech story is, according to Herzer, “the core of the narrative”— with its assurance of resurrection and ascent to the heavenly Jerusalem through the story of Abimelech’s long sleep and the symbol of the figs that are unwithered sixty-six years after the servant had plucked them and divided into two baskets, like the entire people. 4 Baruch as a whole envisions a future without the temple, yet secured by following the law under the instruction of Baruch after Jeremiah’s death. Several other points can be made about 4 Baruch, and these confirm the analysis of the text as one that envisions a constructive life for the community of the law in a period after the conflict of the first century. Even if that peace failed shortly after the book’s composition, its vision is worth noting as a kind of transition to a community that has undergone “the end of sacrifice” and will build its future around the law.5 First, the book is a story; beginning with its opening word, “it came to pass,” it moves away from prophecy and apocalyptic and toward the genre of a chronicle. Conflict diminishes—both the conflict of war on earth, and the

5  Guy Stroumsa, The End of Sacrifice: Religious Transformations in Late Antiquity (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2009).

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conflict between the powers of good and of evil. Thus unlike earlier literature, there is neither reference to Satan or to demons nor to an evil inclination in human beings. Exile is treated not as the result of a fault, but as a fact; and the Samaritans, with their Chaldaean wives, even have a place in Jerusalem eventually. Furthermore, the story has some elements of the Greek genre of romance. There are three separations and reunions in the overall chiastic structure of the work: the separation of the people and the land; the separation of Jeremiah and Baruch; and the separation of Abimelech and Baruch. The first two are accomplished by distance, and the third by the magical sleep of Abimelech, itself perhaps a retelling of the sleep of Epimenides of Crete by Diogenes Laertius, or even of Honi the Circle-Drawer. Consideration should also be granted to the figs. Although they were a reliable feature in both the mountains and plains of Judea, in Jewish and Christian writings of the first century they leapt into prominence from their mention in Jer 24. As Herzer notes, they indicate the end of the exile, and are also a symbol of hope for personal resurrection (Jer 24:5–7 and 4 Bar. 5–6). Yet is it possible to see in these figs, which remain plump and milky for nearly three-quarters of a century, a humorous feature of this book? The lure of the figs takes Abimelech, at Jeremiah’s command, to “the farm of Agrippa by the mountain road [to] . . . get a few figs to give to the sick among the people, for the delight of the Lord is upon you, and his glory upon your head.” And indeed the figs travel into exile in the beak of an eagle, the “king of birds.” Perhaps they are a kind of divine food that, held by Abimelech, preserve him in suspended animation during the time of war and serve also, along with the letter to the captives, to bring back to Jerusalem the exiled people. The author of 4 Baruch may have meant the figs to stand as a contrast with the more pessimistic construal of figs on the part of the authors of the Gospels and earlier literature (Jer 24; Joel 2:21–25, where the fig stands for Israel, and again in Luke 13:6–9, the barren fig; Mark 11:12–14, where the fig is cursed). Finally, as Herzer notes in his translation of the work, 4 Baruch is a work that lends itself to Christian interpolation—so much so that it is unclear where Jewish and Christian portions can be demarcated. This points not only to the skill of the Christian adapter, but to the overlapping communities that used the book. It is possible to imagine a Jewish member of the Jewish community exiting that community with this book, turning into an example, through addition and interpretation, of a kind of “testament,” to Christ. In the same way that the Maccabean martyrs could be assimilated to Christian purpose and ultimately considered as saints in the Christian festal calendar (?), so this work could slide easily into the Christian orbit because it shared values from a world that only later would be split in two.

Chapter 35

The Development of the Jeremiah Figure in 2 Baruch and 4 Baruch. A Response to Jens Herzer* Boyeon Briana Lee Jeremiah’s close association with the unfolding fate of Jerusalem and the temple was an important aspect of the development of the Jeremiah figure during the Second Temple period. We witness in 2 Baruch and 4 Baruch (Paraleipomena Jeremiou) the ongoing development of the Jeremiah figure after the destruction of the Second Temple and the loss of Jerusalem in the early Roman period. Both authors of 2 Baruch and 4 Baruch acknowledged Jeremiah’s enduring significance for Jerusalem and the temple, but they took different approaches to it in accordance with their respective hopes and visions for the future of the Jewish people. In 2 Baruch, Jeremiah is portrayed as a peripheral figure who disappears from the stage with the deportees to Babylon. In 4 Baruch, he reappears as the protagonist who returns to Jerusalem with the Babylonian exiles. The author of 2 Baruch made a conscious effort to downplay Jeremiah’s close association with the fate of Jerusalem and the temple and tried to achieve the theological reconfiguration of Jeremiah. The author of 4 Baruch affirmed Jeremiah’s enduring significance for the city and the temple, but such a significance of Jeremiah was relativized through the process of redaction.

*  The discussion of 4 Baruch will be limited to the Jewish narrative of 4 Baruch to the exclusion of the Christian ending in 9:10–32. A long history of the Christian transmission of 4 Baruch makes it difficult for us to regard 4 Bar. 1:1–9:9 as an original Jewish narrative that contains no subsequent theological-literary refurbishment. In addition, due to the lateness of the earliest Greek manuscript of 4 Baruch that is available to us (the 10th century), we cannot assume that the best textual form reconstructed from the extant manuscripts would reveal the original Jewish narrative that developed as a response to Hadrian’s assault on Jerusalem in the 2nd century ce. Nevertheless, the fact that the Christian redaction of 4 Baruch is most conspicuous in the Christian ending at the end of the narrative may indicate that a Christian redactor was interested in creating a new conclusion to the Jewish narrative rather than in recreating the Jewish narrative itself. Hence, assuming that the Christian tampering with the Jewish narrative was rather minimal, I would follow Jens Herzer and treat 4 Bar. 1:1–9:9 as a Jewish narrative.

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Jeremiah in 2 Baruch

In 2 Baruch, Baruch the scribe is the primary figure. The name “Jeremiah” is mentioned only six times throughout the book (2 Bar. 2:1; 5:5; 9:1; 10:2, 4; 33:1). Given the social milieu of the scribes in the post-70 period, the rise of Baruch as the protagonist seems appropriate.1 The scribal sage who authored 2 Baruch, using “Baruch” as his pseudonym, authorized himself as a religious leader of the community and an inspired interpreter of Torah and tried to offer theological instruction to a devastated people.2 The Baruch figure is thus presented in 2 Baruch as a new leader for a new time.3 In this respect, the marginalization of Jeremiah in 2 Baruch may be seen as a mere corollary to the rise of Baruch. When we consider the author’s creative reconfiguration of Jeremiah, however, we come to realize that the marginalization of Jeremiah is rather closely related to the author’s major concern with reconsolidating the Jewish community through the Torah. From the perspective of the author, it is the Torah, not the earthly city and temple, that is indispensable to the perseverance of the Jewish community in the post-70 period. Hence, he provides the apocalyptic promise of reward for the righteous in order to elicit the people’s obedience to the Torah. The restoration of the earthly city and temple has no place in his apocalyptic program. Although a third temple is briefly mentioned in 2 Bar. 32, its significance is relativized in view of the eschatological salvation in the world to come.4 The author’s general concern with de-emphasizing Jerusalem and the temple and establishing the centrality of the Torah for the present and future of the people is clearly reflected in his overall presentation of the Jeremiah figure. In 2 Bar. 2:1–2, God commands Baruch to tell Jeremiah and all those who are like him to leave the city because they are protecting it with their righteous 1  The scribes’ literacy and their knowledge of the sacred traditions of the Jewish people enhanced their authority to teach the Law and to provide guidance to the people when the central Jewish leadership of the priests was shaken by the destruction of the Second Temple. Cf. Martin Goodman, “Texts, Scribes and Power in Roman Judaea,” in Literacy and Power in the Ancient World (ed. A. K. Bowman and G. D. Woolf; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), 99–108. 2  J. Edward Wright, “The Social Setting of the Syriac Apocalypse of Baruch,” JSP 16 (1997): 81–96. 3  Matthias Henze, “From Jeremiah to Baruch: Pseudepigraphy in the Syriac Apocalypse of Baruch,” in Biblical Traditions in Transmission: Essays in Honour of Michael A. Knibb (ed. Charlotte Hempel and Judith M. Lieu; JSJSup 111; Leiden: Brill, 2006), 157–77. 4  Frederick J. Murphy, “The Temple in the Syriac Apocalypse of Baruch,” JBL 106 (1987): 671–83; John J. Collins, The Apocalyptic Imagination (2d. ed.; Grand Rapids, Mich.: Wm B. Eerdmans, 1998), 215.

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deeds and prayers. Here, the author seems to acknowledge Jeremiah’s intrinsic relationship with the fate of the city,5 but he relativizes it by placing Jeremiah among many other righteous ones in Jerusalem. In 2 Bar. 5:5–7, Jeremiah and some other leaders and nobles of the city are portrayed as lamenting the impending destruction of Jerusalem. The author thus affirms Jeremiah’s wellknown significance as a sympathetic and empathetic lamenter. However, as in 2:1–2, Jeremiah’s significance is relativized in that he is found among other lamenters who are equally concerned about the fate of the city and the temple. In 2 Bar. 9:1–2, Jeremiah alone appears in Baruch’s company, lamenting and fasting with him for seven days after the fall of Jerusalem. Crucial here is the author’s description of Jeremiah: “Jeremiah, whose heart was found pure from sins, and who had not been captured when the city was taken” (v. 1). That Jeremiah’s sinlessness is juxtaposed with his deliverance suggests that Jeremiah is reconfigured as a paradigm for individual retribution. Moreover, his personal experience of salvation, which is mentioned immediately after the account of the Babylonian capture of the city in chapter 8, further suggests that the Jeremiah figure, as a paradigm for individual retribution, shifts the focus from the destruction of Jerusalem and the temple to the deliverance of the righteous on the day of judgment. In this way, Jeremiah’s close association with the unfolding fate of the earthly city and temple gradually fades away in the early chapters of 2 Baruch. The process of disassociation culminates in 2 Bar. 10:1–5. Jeremiah is physically removed from Jerusalem and relocated to Babylon. True, Jeremiah’s departure to Babylon may be understood in relation to Baruch’s increased stature as a prophetic successor to Jeremiah.6 Nevertheless, it is difficult to consider Jeremiah’s departure as the end of his prophetic career since it is God who sends him to Babylon to support the exiles. We also read in 2 Bar. 33:1–2 that Jeremiah, “the prophet,” commands Baruch before his departure to Babylon: “Look after this people until I go and help the rest of our brothers in Babylon.” Here, Jeremiah’s prophetic authority is confirmed and, therefore, his relocation to Babylon may be viewed as a matter of a “division of labor.”7 According to this collaborative model, Jeremiah’s prophetic role in supporting the Babylonian exiles parallels Baruch’s ministry of instructing Torah obedience 5  For Jeremiah’s prayer on behalf of a city, see 2 Macc 15:14; The Lives of the Prophets 2:3. 6  Matthias Henze, Jewish Apocalypticism in Late First Century Israel: Reading Second Baruch in Context (TSAJ 142; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011), 111. Henze writes, “In 2 Bar, it would be difficult not to interpret Jeremiah’s departure within the context of his diminished role in general. Jeremiah leaves the scene so that Baruch can take over.” 7  Christian Wolff, Jeremia im Frühjudentum und Urchristentum (Berlin: Academie, 1976), 32.

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to the remnants in the land and to the nine-and-a-half tribes in the Diaspora. In this regard, it is interesting to note that Jeremiah’s departure to Babylon is comparable to Baruch’s geographical movement away from Jerusalem and the temple as he extends his instructions to the Diaspora.8 Moreover, Jeremiah’s prophetic ministry in Babylon seems to be functionally equivalent to Baruch’s letter to the nine-and-a-half tribes to the degree that Jeremiah, as a paradigm for individual retribution, embodies the message of the letter that they must observe the Torah in light of imminent judgment. Hence, we may propose that Jeremiah’s physical relocation to Babylon is essentially the author’s way of theologically distancing Jeremiah from the fate of Jerusalem and the temple by reassigning his prophetic function exclusively to Torah instruction to the exiles.9 The author’s innovative reconfiguration of Jeremiah clearly shows that the marginalization of Jeremiah is consistent with his theological disassociation from the earthly city and temple. Such a theological reconfiguration of Jeremiah in 2 Baruch is truly noteworthy in view of the development of the Jeremiah figure during the Second Temple period. In Second Chronicles, the reconstruction of the temple is interpreted as the fulfilment of Jeremiah’s prophecy of ‘seventy years’ (2 Chr 36:22–23). In First Zechariah, the restoration of Jerusalem with its temple is also perceived in relation to the Jeremiah tradition of ‘seventy years’ (Zech 1:12–17). In Daniel, the temple reconsecration signals the eschatological fulfilment of Jeremiah’s prophecy (Dan 9:24–27). In 2 Maccabees, Judas’ liberation of Jerusalem and his rededication of the temple are inseparably linked to the role and function of Jeremiah the prophet-priest (2 Macc 2:4–8; 15:12–16). All these texts demonstrate that Jeremiah’s close association with the fate of Jerusalem and the temple was an important aspect of

8 Frederick J. Murphy, The Structure and Meaning of Second Baruch (SBLDS 78; Atlanta, Georgia: Scholars Press, 1985), 11–28; Mark F. Whitters, The Epistle of Second Baruch: A Study in Form and Message (JSPSup 42; London: Sheffield Academic Press, 2003), 35–42, 48–65. Baruch’s public addresses to an ever-growing audience, which always take place outside the city of Jerusalem, are correlated with his geographical movement away from Jerusalem and the temple. Such a movement is pertinent to the author’s intention to draw the people’s attention away from the desolation of Jerusalem and the temple to Torah obedience. 9  G. W. E. Nickelsburg (“Narrative Traditions in the Paralipomena of Jeremiah and 2 Baruch,” CBQ 35 [1973]: 60–68) has argued that 2 Bar. 33 betrays the author’s knowledge of a narrative tradition that asserts Jeremiah’s superiority, a tradition that he tried to transform. It is, however, more likely that what the author of 2 Baruch actually tried to transform is Jeremiah’s close association with the unfolding fate of Jerusalem and the temple. Jeremiah’s prophetic authority is not a problem in 2 Bar. 33 as long as it is theologically and ideologically disassociated from the city and the temple.

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the ongoing development of the Jeremiah figure during the Second Temple period. Therefore, when the Second Temple was destroyed by the Romans in 70 ce, it is very likely that Jeremiah was again acknowledged as important by those who anticipated another fulfilment of his prophecy and another restoration of Jerusalem and the temple. In 2 Baruch, however, Jeremiah is theologically reconfigured as a paradigm for individual retribution and as a prophet of Torah obedience to the exiles. Most probably, the author of 2 Baruch was well aware of Jeremiah’s enduring significance for Jerusalem and the temple but suppressed it in accordance with his plan to reconsolidate the people with the Torah rather than with the hope of the restoration of the earthly city and temple. 2

Jeremiah in 4 Baruch

Jeremiah is the primary figure in 4 Baruch. Although he is sent to Babylon as in 2 Baruch, his return to Jerusalem is presented as the climax of the Jewish narrative of 4 Baruch. This implies that Jeremiah’s close association with the unfolding fate of the city and the temple was important to the Jewish author’s vision of salvation and restoration that developed in response to the Jerusalem crisis in the 2nd century ce. 2.1 The Jerusalem Crisis and 4 Baruch The Jerusalem crisis was triggered by Hadrian’s decision to found Aelia Capitolina on the ruins of Jerusalem and to turn Jerusalem into a pagan city with a new temple to Jupiter (ca. 129–130 ce). This meant the establishment of the imperial cult of emperor worship in Jerusalem, a sacrilege against God’s holy city.10 Hence, Hadrian’s decision was regarded as an outrageous act, not only by those who had high hopes for the construction of a new temple in Jerusalem,11 but also by those who were merely concerned with the continuity of the peoplehood of the Jews under a general Roman policy of permitting its subject peoples to keep their ancestral religions.12 The ensuing Bar Kokhba Revolt (132–135/6 ce) tells us how offensive Hadrian’s building project must 10  Cf. Cilliers Breytenbach, “Zeus und Jupiter auf dem Zion und dem Berg Garizim: Die Hellenisierung und Romanisierung der Kultstätten des Höchsten,” JSJ 28 (1997): 369–80. 11  Martin Goodman, “Trajan and the Origins of the Bar Kokhba War,” in The Bar Kokhba War Reconsidered (ed. Peter Schäfer; TSAJ 100; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2003), 23–29. 12  Cf. Benjamin Isaac, “Roman Religious Policy and the Bar Kokhba War,” in The Bar Kokhba War Reconsidered, 37–54.

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have been in the eyes of the people. In their joint article, Amos Kloner and Boaz Zissu have shown that most, if not all, of the Jewish population in Judea participated in the war.13 The war, however, ended in failure. In a truer sense, this signaled the beginning of the real crisis for the Jewish people. The loss of Jerusalem became a reality. All Jews were expelled from the city. A desolated Jerusalem was rebuilt as Aelia Capitolina and pagan temples and idols were erected in the city. The city and the land began to be repopulated with Gentiles, and the Palestinian Jews soon found themselves surrounded by pagan culture and religion. If Seth Schwartz is correct in arguing that rabbinic authority and influence were minimal in Palestine during the period of 135–350 ce and that the majority of the Palestinian Jews lived Greco-Roman lives during this time, it is very likely that the social, cultural and religious disintegration of the Jewish community was a real problem in the post-war period.14 Moreover, if we take into account the theo-political problem of the advance of the kingdom of the divine emperor, we can easily understand that the preservation of the Jewish faith and religion and the reconsolidation of the Jewish people were important concerns pertaining not only to the second “templeless age” that began in 70 ce but also to the “templeless–cityless age” that began in 135/6 ce.15 Therefore, consideration must be given to the possibility that the Jerusalem crisis with which the Jewish author of 4 Baruch was confronted was not merely Hadrian’s decision to paganize Jerusalem as Aelia Capitolina but also the complete loss of Jerusalem with its social, cultural, and religious ramifications in the post-war period. Jens Herzer is of the opinion that the centrality of the Torah in conjunction with the eschatological-heavenly orientation of the book reflects the theological stance of the rabbinic school of ben Zakkai before the war.16 Yet the emphasis on separation as the precondition for entry into 13  Amos Kloner and Boaz Zissu, “The Hiding Complexes in Judaea: An Archaeological and Geographical Update on the Area of the Bar Kokhba Revolt,” in The Bar Kokhba War Reconsidered, 181–216. 14  Seth Schwartz, Imperialism and Jewish Society, 200 BCE to 640 CE (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2001), 103–76. According to Schwartz, the leadership of the rabbis was not yet reorganized and empowered enough to reconsolidate all the Palestinian Jews in the 2nd century ce, and the religious and constitutional authority of the Torah became less influential than the political and legal authority of the Roman city councils in the daily life of the Jews. Also see Shaye J. D. Cohen, “The Rabbi in the Second-century Jewish Society,” CHJ 3: 922–90. 15  I borrowed the term “templeless age” from Jill Middlemas’ book with the same title. 16  Jens Herzer, 4 Baruch (Paraleipomena Jeremiou) (Writings from the Greco-Roman World 22; Atlanta: SBL, 2005), xxx–xxxvi.

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Jerusalem (4 Bar. 6:14; 7:32; 8:2–5)17 may reveal the author’s strong concern with protecting the ethno-religious purity and identity of the Jewish people in the post-135/6 period, when they became more vulnerable to the pagan culture and religion after the loss of the city.18 In this regard, the earlier view that the year 136 (i.e., a 66-year time period after the destruction of the Second Temple in 70 ce) is the most likely date of composition of 4 Baruch cannot be dismissed out of hand.19 Although Christian Wolff has argued that the number 66 is not to be taken literally since it merely connotes that the time of return and restoration is imminent, we still wonder why the author of 4 Baruch would choose that particular number to convey the sense of imminence.20 Of course, we are unable to ascertain that the year 136 is the exact date of composition, but it is plausible and possible that the author was fully aware of the significance of the year in Jewish history and wanted to reimagine this critical time as a theologically appropriate time to envision a future return of God’s people to Jerusalem. The point is this: we may read 4 Baruch as a theological response to the Jerusalem crisis that did not end with the war but persisted into the post-war period of the “templelesscityless age.” 2.2 Jeremiah as a New Moses and a Priest In 4 Baruch, Jeremiah the protagonist is portrayed as a new Moses. In the first chapter of the book, Jeremiah learns in his conversation with God of a divine plan to destroy Jerusalem and begins to intercede on its behalf. This Jeremiah, who speaks face to face with God, is not an ordinary interlocutor/intercessor but a special one vested with Mosaic authority (cf. 1:11; 3:13).21 Noteworthy in his Mosaic intercession is that Jeremiah continues to affirm the sanctity of Jerusalem: Jerusalem is “the chosen city” and “God’s holy city” that cannot be 17  Versifications are in accordance with the Greek text of 4 Baruch reconstructed and translated by Jens Herzer. 18  Note that the divine instruction of separation is given to the exiles who are specifically called, “the children of Israel” (6:13) and “God’s chosen people” (7:11). 19  J. Rendel Harris, The Rest of the Words of Baruch: A Christian Apocalypse of the Year 136 A.D.: The Text Revised with an Introduction (London: Clay, 1889), 12–15; later advocated by George W. E. Nickelsburg, Jewish Literature between the Bible and the Mishnah: A Historical and Literary Introduction (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1981), 313–16. 20  Wolff, Jeremia im Frühjudentum, 115. 21  Jean Riaud, “Le figure de Jérémie dans les Paralipomena Jeremiae,” in Mélanges bibliques et orientaux en l’honneur de M. Henri Cazelles (ed. Andre Caquot and Matthias Delcor; AOUAT 212; Kevelaer: Butzon & Bercker; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1981), 373–85, esp. 379.

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handed over to the Babylonians (1:5–6). In his second, long conversation with God in chapter 3, Jeremiah intercedes on behalf of Abimelech. In response, God promises to protect him until the return of the people to the city (v. 10). God then commands Jeremiah to go to Babylon to preach the good news to the exiles, again, until God returns them to the city (v. 11). Jeremiah, a Mosaic interlocutor/intercessor, thus becomes a recipient of the divine revelation about a future return of the people to Jerusalem. In chapters 7–8, Jeremiah, as a Mosaic mediator, teaches the exiles the divine instruction of separation and returns to Jerusalem with those who obey his teaching. He is a new Moses for a new exodus who is superior to the old one in that he actually crosses the Jordan and enters Jerusalem.22 Crucial here is that Jeremiah’s ongoing Mosaic role and function affirm the centrality of Jerusalem in the unfolding history of the people through exile and return. Moreover, Jeremiah’s participation in the fulfilment of the divine promise of return demonstrates the trustworthiness of the promise. It is thus assured that God’s chosen people shall be restored to God’s chosen and holy city of Jerusalem. Jeremiah’s priestly role is first mentioned in the second chapter of 4 Baruch. Jeremiah enters the sanctuary and intercedes on behalf of the people as a priest of Jerusalem (v. 1). His priestly intercession for the people is similar to his Mosaic intercession for the city in the sense that his prayer for the forgiveness of the people ultimately serves to protect the city from being destroyed on account of their sin (cf. 2 Bar. 2:1–2). Jeremiah’s priestly identity also continues in exile. In his exilic letter to Baruch (4 Bar. 7:23–29), Jeremiah emerges as the weeping priest in Babylon. He weeps on account of the affliction and idolatry of the exiles (vv. 25–26) and grieves over their grim reality as he remembers a solemn day of festival in Jerusalem (v. 27).23 The quotation of Ps 137 in 4 Bar. 7:29, as the conclusion to the letter, speaks loudly about the significance of Jeremiah as the weeping priest. His lament over the people’s inability to sing the songs of the Lord in exile indicates a strong yearning for Jerusalem. This coheres with his nostalgic memory of Jerusalem where they used to worship their God. In this regard, it is noteworthy that the author’s account of the 22  Riaud, Les Paralipomènes du Prophète Jérémie: Présentation, texts original, traduction et commentaires (CIRHiLL 14; Université Catholique de l’Ouest, 1994), 53–54. 23  Given the connection between idolatry and mixed marriages, Jeremiah’s priestly and Mosaic roles seem to be closely interrelated. In Ezra 9–10, separation is commanded to the returnees to Jerusalem as part of the religious reform because intermarriage is the source of religious “uncleanness” (‫טמאה‬, 9:11). Therefore, the instruction of separation is attributed to Ezra’s priestly function (10:10–11). In 4 Baruch, the weeping priest is also the one who gives the instruction of separation as the precondition for return.

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return of the people focuses on Jeremiah’s high priestly role in officiating at Yom Kippur in Jerusalem (9:1–9). The implication is that Jeremiah’s nostalgic memory of Jerusalem as the center of Jewish worship is actualized in the people’s observance of Yom Kippur in Jerusalem. They not only return to the city as promised by God but also repent of the sin that they accumulated during the period of exile. They are thus given a chance to start anew and to resume the songs of the Lord in Jerusalem. It seems that Jeremiah’s priestly role and function also affirm the centrality of Jerusalem in the unfolding history of the people through exile and return. The weeping priest in Babylon becomes the high priest in Jerusalem officiating at religious ceremonies. This reveals the author’s vision of a future when Jerusalem is restored as the center of Jewish worship and the worship of the one true God is re-established in Jerusalem. It is very likely that the author’s portrayal of Jeremiah as a priest was greatly influenced by the paganization of Jerusalem as the center of emperor worship as well as the Jewish expulsion from the city. The author’s account of the hiding of the temple vessels and keys focuses on Jeremiah’s priestly association with the temple. Unlike the parallel account in 2 Bar. 6, where an angel entrusts the sacred vessels to the earth, in 4 Bar. 3 Jeremiah hides the temple vessels at the altar. The hidden vessels will be revealed at the time of God’s great ingathering (v. 8; cf. 2 Macc 2:4–8). Jeremiah then takes the keys of the temple and throws them to the sun, saying that the sun is to guard the keys until God asks for them (4 Bar. 4:1–4). In this way, the author emphasizes the absolute divine sovereignty in the matter of a temple restoration and also implies that the time of restoration lies at an unknown point in the future. The fact that the retrieval of the hidden vessels and keys is not mentioned in the account of return has led to an argument that the author of 4 Baruch was not interested in a temple-cultic restoration.24 True, their retrieval is not mentioned, but we know that the altar where the holy vessels remain hidden is the place where Jeremiah returns to offer sacrifices and prayers (9:1–9).25 24  Herzer (4 Baruch, 144) argues that the temple vessels and keys “were preserved not for another earthly temple but for an eschatological, heavenly temple.” Compare Lorenzo DiTommaso, The Dead Sea New Jerusalem Text: Contents and Contexts (TSAJ 110; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2005), 134, n. 177. DiTommaso suggests that the hidden vessels “will be returned to the future-time Temple, since they would not be required in the pre-existent heavenly Temple.” 25  In this regard, the idea of “continuity” associated with the fate of the temple vessels is worth considering. See P. R. Ackroyd, “The Temple Vessels—A Continuity Theme,” in

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That Jeremiah’s high priestly function culminates at the altar indicates that his return to Jerusalem has paved the way for a temple restoration. In this respect, Jeremiah’s priestly role in preserving the temple vessels and keys is suggestive of the author’s hope of rebuilding the temple in the future, at the divinelydetermined time of the great ingathering of the people. In the historical circumstances of the failed revolt and the hegemony of Rome, the author of 4 Baruch must have perceived that the restoration of Jerusalem and the temple would not take place any time soon. As Christian Wolff has noted, the author’s use of the exodus model, the Urbild of Jewish hope for salvation, gives the account of the return of the people to Jerusalem under Jeremiah’s priestly-Mosaic leadership an eschatological character.26 Nevertheless, from the author’s portrayal of Jeremiah as a new Moses and a priest who is theologically re-associated with God’s holy city and temple, we can infer that the author of 4 Baruch acknowledged Jeremiah’s enduring significance for the fate of Jerusalem and the temple and envisaged the definitive end of the “templeless–cityless age” in the future history of the people, although, from his standpoint in the 2nd century ce, its fulfilment was to be postponed far into the remote future of the people. 2.3 The Earthly Jerusalem and the Heavenly Jerusalem In 2 Baruch, the apocalyptic promise of life in the world to come promotes Torah obedience in the present. We find a similar eschatological-apocalyptic promise in Baruch’s words about bodily resurrection in 4 Bar. 6:3–7. There is, however, another important promise of reward for obedience in 4 Baruch— entry into Jerusalem. We may interpret the promise of entry into Jerusalem in reference to the apocalyptic promise of life and take the entire Jewish narrative of 4 Baruch as a symbolic story that focuses on the heavenly city. Herzer suggests that the major theme of 4 Baruch is postmortem eschatological salvation in the heavenly Jerusalem. The way to the heavenly city, he argues, is the Torah Studies in the Religion of Ancient Israel (VTSup 23; Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1972), 166–81; Isaac Kalimi and James D. Purvis, “King Jehoiachin and the Vessels of the Lord’s House in Biblical Literature,” CBQ 56 (1994): 449–57. For Eupolemus, who is believed to be the originator of the tradition of Jeremiah’s hiding of the temple vessels, see Doron Mendels’ discussion in The Land of Israel as a Political Concept in Hasmonean Literature: Recourse to History in Second Century B.C. Claims to the Holy Land (Tübingen: J.C.B. Mohr, 1987), 29–46, esp. 39–46. Mendels develops the idea of “the structural continuity.” In 4 Baruch, the same idea is clearly expressed in the preservation of the altar which remains intact until the time of return. 26  Christian Wolff, “Irdisches und himmlisches Jerusalem—Die Heilshoffnung in den Paralipomena Jeremiae,” ZNW 82 (1991): 147–58, esp. 157–58.

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and, therefore, the primary significance of Jeremiah in 4 Baruch is to be found in his role as a teacher of Torah. Such an eschatological-apocalyptic interpretation of 4 Baruch brings the narrative of exile and return very close to 2 Baruch in terms of its theological message. My reservation, however, is that Jeremiah’s teaching of the divine instruction of separation cannot adequately sum up the theological significance of Jeremiah as a new Moses and a priest. Moreover, the priority and originality of the key passages that support the eschatologicalheavenly orientation of 4 Baruch are largely questionable. In the following, I will re-examine the major evidence for the heavenly-orientation of 4 Baruch in order to broaden our understanding of the Jewish narrative of 4 Baruch. 2.3.1 Abimelech’s Words in 5:34 When Abimelech returns to Jerusalem after awakening from his sleep, he is unable to recognize the city because it has changed so much. A certain old man identifies the city as Jerusalem and says that 66 years have passed since the destruction. At the end of the Abimelech narrative in chapter 5, Abimelech speaks to the old man, giving some of his figs to him, “God will lead you with light to the city above, Jerusalem” (v. 34). There is no question that this city refers to the heavenly Jerusalem, which stands in contrast to the earthly Jerusalem, and that these concluding words render the entire Abimelech narrative as being oriented towards the eschatological salvation of the righteous in the heavenly Jerusalem. Noteworthy is that the motif of Abimelech’s fresh figs, which is pregnant with the hope of the eschatological-otherworldly salvation of an individual in 5:34, has a completely different connotation in the Jeremiah narrative of exile and return. Right before the destruction of Jerusalem, Jeremiah sends Abimelech out of the city to gather some figs for the sick among the people (3:15–16; cf. 5:25); after Abimelech’s return, Baruch sends fifteen figs to Jeremiah in Babylon along with his letter that contains the hopeful message of the imminent return of the exiles after fifteen days of preparation (7:8); Jeremiah distributes the figs to the sick among the exiles for whom these were originally meant (7:32). Here, the motif of Abimelech’s fresh figs has to do with the revitalization of the people in preparation for the return. It is tempting to harmonize these two different connotations of the motif and interpret the Jeremiah narrative of exile and return as a metaphorical story about the entry into the heavenly city. Such a conceptual harmonization, however, is not without problem. As regards the transformation of Jerusalem that left Abimelech bewildered, Jean Riaud suggests that it refers to the desolation of Jerusalem in the post-70 period.27 Herzer connects it to Hadrian’s foundation of Aelia Capitolina 27  Riaud, Les Paralipomènes du prophète Jèrèmie, 130.

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on Jerusalem.28 Lorenzo DiTommaso, however, argues that the transformation of Jerusalem that Abimelech witnesses after awakening from his 66 years of sleep is a positive transformation, or an eschatological renewal of the earthly Jerusalem.29 The reading by DiTommaso can be supported on both internal and external grounds. His interpretation coheres with the divine promise to protect Abimelech until the return of the people to the city (3:10). Abimelech’s safe return to Jerusalem thus signals the inauguration of the time of the divine fulfilment of restoration. Moreover, as the old man says in 5:30, Abimelech slept for 66 years because God did not want him, a righteous man, to see the desolation of the city.30 If so, it is most likely that the Jerusalem that Abimelech sees after awakening from his sleep is not the desolated city but the exalted one, completely renewed and restored as a glorious city of God, to which Jeremiah and the people shall soon return from the 66 years of exile. This is also how the Abimelech tradition is interpreted in the Jeremiah Apocryphon (3rd–4th centuries ce).31 In the Garshuni and Coptic versions of the Jeremiah Apocryphon, the day of Abimelech’s return to Jerusalem after seventy years of sleep coincides with Jeremiah’s return with the exiles. The old man reveals to Abimelech, who is bewildered by the transformation of the city, that Jerusalem has been restored. It is to this glorious city that Jeremiah and the exiles are to return: The old man answered then and said: “You are truly a holy man, and God spared you the sight of the destruction of Jerusalem, the great tribulations of the road and the subjection to Nebuchadnezzar. He has brought down sleep upon you in order that you may see Jerusalem reconstructed as in 28  Herzer, 4 Baruch, xxxiii–xxxiv. 29  DiTommaso, New Jerusalem Texts, 138–39. 30  Here the Abimelech figure is to some extent a paradigm for individual retribution and is comparable to a sinless Jeremiah who escapes the Babylonian capture on the day of the destruction of the city in 2 Bar. 9:1–2. There is, however, a glaring difference between the two. In 2 Baruch, Jeremiah, as a paradigm for individual retribution, is physically disassociated from Jerusalem and sustains the hope of an eschatological-apocalyptic salvation in the world to come. In 4 Baruch, Abimelech is physically re-associated with the earthly Jerusalem after 66 years of sleep, and his safe return serves ultimately as a divine guarantee for the return of the people to Jerusalem as promised in 3:10. It is only through Abimelech’s concluding words to the old man in 5:34 that the focus of Abimelech’s return to Jerusalem shifts to the eschatological-otherworldly salvation of the righteous in the heavenly Jerusalem. 31  Arthur Marmorstein, “Die Quellen des neuen Jeremia-Apocryphons,” ZNW 27 (1928): 327– 37. Marmorstein has cogently argued that Jeremiah Apocryphon is a Jewish work dating from the 3rd–4th centuries ce.

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the days of her glory. If you wish to ascertain the truth of my words: this is the first day in which the prophet Jeremiah arrived accompanied by all the people; this should be a proof for you that Jerusalem has returned to its former state. You are truly a holy man of the Lord, who had pity on you and granted you rest for seventy years, until the people came back to their place. . .”32 The old man said to him: Truly, O my son, thou art a righteous man whom God did not let see the destruction of Jerusalem. Therefore God brought this sleep upon thee until today. Thou art seeing it [Jerusalem] in its joy. It is the first day since Jeremiah sent (and) adorned the gates of Jerusalem, for they have released the people from captivity. . .33 In the Jeremiah Apocryphon, the Jerusalem that Abimelech sees after awakening from his sleep is a new earthly Jerusalem, eschatologically restored as a new ingathering center. The Jeremiah Apocryphon thus attests to the narrative tradition of Abimelech, which looks forward to the this-worldly fulfilment of the eschatological restoration of God’s city and people. We may postulate that the author of the Jeremiah Apocryphon learned such a narrative tradition from the Jewish narrative of 4 Baruch. Most probably, the Abimelech narrative was first created by the author of 4 Baruch as a story about the eschatological renewal of the earthly Jerusalem in reaction to its present paganization as Aelia Capitolina. This suggests that the hope of an eschatological salvation in the heavenly Jerusalem as expressed in 4 Bar. 5:34 is irrelevant to the original extent and nature of the narrative tradition of Abimelech, and that Abimelech’s speech to the old man in 5:34 is a later redaction through which the entire Abimelech narrative in chapter 5 transformed into a story about the eschatological salvation of the righteous in “the city above, Jerusalem.” 2.3.2 Baruch’s Prayer in 6:3–7 The Baruch narrative in chapter 6 begins with Baruch’s reunion with Abimelech. When he sees Abimelech’s figs that have been preserved fresh for 66 years, Baruch begins to pray and says that the God who preserved them will preserve his body as well (6:3–7). The fresh figs thus become the symbol of the bodily resurrection of the righteous. Note, however, that Baruch’s prayer 32  Quoted from the Garshuni version of the Jeremiah Apocryphon. Alphones Mingana and J. R. Harris, “A New Jeremiah Apocryphon,” Woodbrooke Studies I.2, John Rylands Library Bulletin 11 (1927): 125–91 (at 187). 33  Quoted from the Coptic version of the Jeremiah Apocryphon. K. H. Kuhn, “A Coptic Jeremiah-Apocryphon,” Muséon 83 (1970): 95–135, 291–350 (at 322).

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in 6:3–7 does not have any immediate connection to the subsequent developments in the narrative of exile and return. Baruch tells Abimelech that they should pray together, for he does not know how to send a message to Jeremiah in Babylon (v. 8). The message that he wants to deliver is that the fulfilment of the divine promise to protect Abimelech signals the impending fulfilment of the return of the exiles to Jerusalem. Baruch prays for divine wisdom and knowledge as to the way to send the message to Jeremiah in Babylon (vv. 9–10). In response to his prayer, an angel appears to Baruch, commands him to write a letter to Jeremiah, and reveals what to write in the letter (vv. 11–15). Baruch’s letter, which is written in obedience to the angelic revelation, does not mention anything about Abimelech’s figs or bodily resurrection but only the precondition for return (vv. 17–23). The Baruch narrative in chapter 6 thus flows smoothly, from Baruch’s reunion with Abimelech in v. 2 to his decision to send to Jeremiah the message of the imminent return of the exiles in v. 8, without the intervening prayer about bodily resurrection. Hence, there is a great possibility that Baruch’s prayer, which interprets the motif of Abimelech’s figs in relation to the eschatological salvation of the righteous in the heavenly world, is redactional. That being said, the account of a miracle of resurrection in 4 Bar. 7:17 calls for some consideration. The eagle, a divine courier that reaches Babylon with Baruch’s letter and Abimelech’s figs, miraculously revives a dead person in front of the exiles so that they may believe the message of an imminent divine salvation of the exiles. The miracle of resurrection that takes place in the context of the return allows us to conjecture that Baruch’s prayer about bodily resurrection is, perhaps, integral to the original Jewish narrative. It is, however, clearly indicated in 7:17 that the eagle performs a miracle of resurrection in order to demonstrate divine power to the exiles and dispel their doubt and hopelessness with respect to their restoration. This is consistent with Ezekiel’s vision of resurrection in Ezek 37:1–14. There, God says that the vision has been given to Ezekiel for the sake of the people in exile who say that they have no hope. Ezekiel’s vision of resurrection corresponds to the divine message that God will bring up the exiles from the graves and bring them back to the land. The account of the eagle’s miracle of resurrection in 4 Baruch is comparable to Ezekiel’s vision in that the motif of resurrection is in both passages a powerful theological and literary device that asserts God’s power to defeat death and give life to the people towards their return and restoration.34 In 4 Baruch, the exilic life of the people, marked by affliction 34  See Jon D. Levenson’s discussion of the significance of the motif of resurrection in the ongoing Jewish (and rabbinic) hope of the restoration of the people of Israel in

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and death (cf. 7:23–29), comes to an end with the miracle of resurrection and the healing of the sick. In the context of a new exodus, the miracle of resurrection is not so much an expression of a real belief in bodily resurrection as an affirmation of God’s power to bring about a great reversal in the fate of the people, that is, their return and restoration as promised.35 In this respect, the miracle of resurrection in 4 Bar. 7:17 does not support the view that Baruch’s prayer about bodily resurrection is integral to the original Jewish narrative of exile and return. Nor does it suggest that the return of the exiles is a metaphor for the eschatological entry into the heavenly Jerusalem. 2.3.3 Jeremiah’s Words in 8:9 and 9:5 We read in 4 Bar. 8:4–9 that those who disobey the instruction of separation fail to enter Jerusalem. So they decide to return to Babylon, calling it “our place” (v. 6). But when the Babylonians refuse to receive them back, they build the city of Samaria for themselves. Hence, Samaria is presented as the place of ethno-religious impurity where God’s people continue to defile themselves with the Babylonians. They are not in exile in the ordinary sense of the term since they have crossed the Jordan and entered the land, but they continue to live in an “exilic” condition through their cultural and religious adherence to Babylon. Jeremiah exhorts them to repentance: “Repent, for the angel of righteousness is coming and he will lead you to your exalted place” (v. 9). Herzer has suggested that the author of 4 Baruch advocates here “a Samaritan-friendly position” affirming their Jewish identity and the unity of God’s people.36 The Jewish-Samaritan relationship indeed took a friendly turn when the Samaritans joined in the Jewish resistance to the Romans during the First Jewish Revolt. Yet, their relationship deteriorated when the Samaritan community, which had been re-established in Neapolis (Shechem) after the First Jewish Revolt, supported and welcomed Hadrian’s religio-political policy in Palestine. When Hadrian decided to build a temple to Zeus Olympius at Tell-er-Ras on Mount Gerizim, most of the Samaritans, who had already become accustomed to living in the Hellenistic city of Neapolis, accepted Resurrection and the Restoration of Israel: The Ultimate Victory of the God of Life (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2006), esp. 156–65. 35  It is also interesting to note that the motif of resurrection plays an important role in the Baruch narrative. Baruch remained in a tomb during the period of exile but came out of it right before the return of the exiles (cf. 4 Bar. 4:11; 7:1). It is most likely that his symbolic “resurrection” signifies the end of the Babylonian exile marked by death and burial. Compare Ezek 37:12. 36  Herzer, 4 Baruch, 135–39.

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Hadrian’s decision without much resistance.37 In this regard, Jeremiah’s exhortation to repentance seems to reflect the author’s criticism of the Samaritans’ assent to Hadrian’s paganization of their sacred mountain. Yet it is also very likely that Jeremiah’s exhortation to the disobedient in Samaria reveals the author’s genuine concern with preserving the ethno-religious purity and identity of the Jewish people. They must turn from cultural and religious impurity and reaffirm their identity as “God’s chosen people” (7:11). They must not call Babylon (Rome) “our place.” Jeremiah declares that “your exalted place” is Jerusalem (8:9). Noteworthy in Jeremiah’s exhortation in 8:9 is the angel of righteousness, who will lead the penitent into “the exalted place.” In 4 Baruch, the angel of righteousness is mentioned for the first time in Baruch’s prayer in 6:3–7. Baruch says that his body shall be preserved as the result of his obedience to the angel of righteousness (v. 6). Here, the angel of righteousness is directly involved in the postmortem eschatological salvation of the righteous in the heavenly world. Therefore, the angel of righteousness mentioned in Jeremiah’s exhortation in 8:9 may lead us to construe “the exalted place” as the heavenly Jerusalem that the penitent shall enter eschatologically. This, however, renders Jeremiah’s exhortation puzzling. We would expect the penitent to enter the earthly Jerusalem that the obedient have already entered with Jeremiah. Yet Jeremiah’s exhortation in its present form insinuates a relative insignificance of the fate of the obedient by suggesting that the disobedient, if they repent, shall enter the heavenly Jerusalem. It is difficult to assume that this is the message originally intended by the author of 4 Baruch. “The exalted place” that both the obedient and the penitent are entitled to enter must refer to an eschatologically transformed, new earthly Jerusalem to which Abimelech has returned. Given the secondary nature of Baruch’s prayer in 6:3–7, there is a great possibility that Jeremiah’s exhortation in 8:9 has been redacted in keeping with the eschatological-apocalyptic significance of the angel of righteousness in Baruch’s prayer. This redaction has generated ambiguity with respect to the identity of “the exalted place” and confused the original intention of Jeremiah’s exhortation that anticipates the eschatological ingathering of God’s 37  Menachem Mor, “The Samaritans and Bar-Kokhba Revolt,” in The Samaritans (ed. Alan D. Crown; Tübingen: J.C.B. Mohr, 1989), 19–31; Emmanuel Friedheim, “Some Notes about the Samaritans and the Rabbinic Class at the Crossroads,” in Samaritans: Past and Present: Current Studies (ed. Menachem Mor and Friedrich V. Reiterer; Berlin: de Gruyter, 2010), 193–202. Friedheim contends that the paganization of the Samaritan religion under Hadrian is likely to have raised a red flag in the Jewish-Samaritan relationship in the 2nd century ce (p. 197).

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beloved people in a new earthly Jerusalem which stands exalted above Babylon (Rome). We also find in Jeremiah’s final prayer his expectation for Michael, the archangel of righteousness, to lead in the righteous (9:5). Michael is, however, the archangel of the protection of Israel. His peculiar designation as the archangel of righteousness strongly suggests that Jeremiah’s prayer in 9:5 has been redacted in conjunction with his exhortation in 8:9 in order to articulate the vision of an eschatological salvation of the righteous in the heavenly Jerusalem. If “the (arch)angel of righteousness” in 8:9 and 9:5 is secondary, the ingathering center must be a glorious new earthly Jerusalem.38 Although we cannot ascertain the original form and extent of the prayer, it seems that the eschatological ingathering of the people is an essential part of the original prayer. Note that it corresponds to the divine word in 3:8, that the hidden vessels shall be revealed at the time of the great ingathering.39 Jeremiah’s final prayer, in this respect, envisages the consummation of the history of the salvation of God’s people centered on a new earthly Jerusalem inclusive of a new temple. The foregoing discussion does not deny the eschatological-heavenly orientation of 4 Baruch but only questions its originality and priority. The fact that the major evidence for the eschatological-heavenly orientation of the book is found in the speeches of three main characters—Abimelech, Baruch, and Jeremiah—is indicative of a systematic and deliberate redaction that aimed to make all three figures proclaim in coordination the hope of an eschatological salvation in the heavenly Jerusalem. This allows us to postulate the original Jewish narrative that was concerned with a future restoration centered on the earthly Jerusalem and that was redactionally overlaid with the theological idea of eschatological-heavenly salvation. The postulation of the original Jewish narrative and its redaction calls the current scholarship of 4 Baruch to take Marinus de Jonge’s hypothesis more seriously. Here I quote De Jonge:

38  Gerhard Delling, Jüdische Lehre und Frömmigkeit in den Paralipomena Jeremiae (Berlin: Töpelmann, 1967), 61–62. Delling suggests that the place of the end-time salvation implied in 9:5 is a new earthly Jerusalem. 39  Cf. Berndt Schaller, Historische und legendarische Erzälungen: Paralipomena Jeremiou (JSHRZ I:8; Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 1998), 749. Schaller rejects the authenticity of 9:5 because of its thin relationship with the rest of the prayer in 9:3–6. He is correct in assuming that 9:3–6 is not the original form of the prayer, but Jeremiah’s anticipation of the great ingathering of the people seems to be integral to the original Jewish narrative of exile and return.

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Should we, perhaps, assume the two stages in the writing of the Jewish Paralipomena, one concerned with the return, one with the entry into the heavenly city—a hypothesis strongly rejected by J. Herzer? If the emphasis is no longer on an actual return to Jerusalem or a rebuilding of the city and the temple, is there any reason to stick to a date in the time of Hadrian, a date that is commonly accepted?40 De Jonge’s idea of the two-stage composition of the Jewish narrative of 4 Baruch helps us articulate its theological complexities as the outcome of the processes of transmission and redaction. So far, scholarly interpretations have suffered from the anxiety to harmonize all conceptual discrepancies and to read the Jewish narrative of 4 Baruch as an organic unity. Gerhard Delling, for example, tried to combine the this-worldly and the otherworldly orientations of 4 Baruch in his interpretation of “the city above, Jerusalem” (5:34) as a reference to a new earthly Jerusalem of heavenly origins.41 He argued that the return to Jerusalem points not only to the postmortem eschatological salvation of righteous individuals in the heavenly city, but also to the long-awaited Endheil of the people of Israel in the earthly city.42 Berndt Schaller was also torn between the heavenly Jerusalem and the earthly Jerusalem. 4 Baruch, he thought, can be read as a story of the return of the people and also as a symbolic parable about the fate of the righteous. He then speculated that either the theme of the eschatological salvation of the righteous was imposed on the story of return or the motif of return was strategically employed in the symbolic narrative of the eschatological salvation of the righteous in the heavenly Jerusalem. Yet he clearly preferred the first interpretive option when he said that God’s chosen people of Israel are too significant in 4 Baruch to pass merely as a metaphoric reference to righteous individuals.43 By implication, Jerusalem, as God’s chosen and holy city, is also too significant to pass merely as the heavenly abode of the resurrected. Schaller’s intuitive observation that the vision of restoration centered on the earthly Jerusalem is not easily subordinated to the hope of the eschatological salvation of the righteous further strengthens De Jonge’s theory of the two-stage development of the Jewish narrative of 4 Baruch. 40  Marinus de Jonge, “Remarks in the Margin of the Paper ‘The Figure of Jeremiah in Paralipomena Jeremiae’ by J. Riaud,” JSP 22 (2000): 45–49 (at 47). 41  Delling, Jüdische Lehre, 59–60. 42  Ibid., 63. For Delling, the divine word about the revelation of the temple vessels at the time of the ingathering of the beloved (3:8) ensures the this-worldly fulfilment of restoration centered on the earthly Jerusalem. 43  Schaller, Paralipomena Jeremiou, 687–88.

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Conclusion

During the inter-war period, the hope of the imminent restoration of Jerusalem and the temple remained strong in Jewish thinking. In 2 Baruch, the author tried to suppress the Jewish hope of the restoration of the earthly city and temple and to reconsolidate the Jewish community with the Torah in view of the eschatological salvation of the righteous in the heavenly world. The author’s attempt to de-emphasize the city and the temple and to promote Torah obedience is clearly reflected in his creative reconfiguration of Jeremiah. Jeremiah is disassociated from the fate of the earthly Jerusalem and temple and is physically relocated to Babylon as a prophet to the exiles. In 4 Baruch, which was composed most probably as a theological response to the loss of Jerusalem and the socio-religious disintegration of the Jewish people in the 2nd century ce, Jeremiah’s close association with the earthly Jerusalem and temple is affirmed in the author’s portrayal of him as a new Moses and a priest. In the original Jewish narrative of exile and return, the Jeremiah figure shows that the author’s vision of the restoration of God’s people is inclusive of the eschatological renewal of God’s holy city and temple, or the definitive end of the “templeless–cityless age.” An anonymous Jewish redactor reworked the speeches of Abimelech (5:34), Baruch (6:3–7), and Jeremiah (8:9; 9:5) and allowed three main characters to express an eschatological-otherworldly hope of salvation. Thus he tried to transform the original Jewish narrative into a symbolic account of eschatological salvation in the heavenly Jerusalem and, in doing so, he established a certain degree of theological continuity with 2 Baruch. We can infer from the development of the Jeremiah figure in 2 Baruch and 4 Baruch that there were some Jewish intellectuals who tried to downplay Jeremiah’s theological significance for the earthly city and temple by relativizing his close association with them with a view to postmortem eschatological salvation in the heavenly world. There were also others who acknowledged Jeremiah’s enduring significance for the fate of the earthly city and temple and anticipated their eschatological renewal. The voice of the former prevailed in 2 Baruch, but we can still hear the voice of the latter in the original Jewish narrative of 4 Baruch. We need to hear both as theological voices that developed through the ongoing reflections on the future of the Jewish people after the loss of the temple and the city in the early Roman period.

Chapter 36

Jeremiah as Mystagogue: Jeremiah in Philo of Alexandria Gregory E. Sterling It is widely recognized that Philo of Alexandria considered the Pentateuch to be the authoritative body of Scripture. He recognized other writings as inspired—even Scripture, but the writings of Moses were the touchstone by which he measured everything else.1 He wrote three major sets of commentaries on the books of the Pentateuch and not a single commentary on another text.2 He cited texts that we consider Scripture 1,161 times; however, only 41 or 3.5% of these citations are from texts beyond the Pentateuch.3 The same percentage is true if we extend the scope to include allusions as well as citations: the Alexandrian cited or alluded to the texts that we recognize as Scripture 8,462 times but only 247 of these or 3% are citations or allusions to texts 1  The extent of Philo’s Scriptures has been disputed. Helmut Burkhardt, Die Inspiration heiliger Schriften bei Philo von Alexandrien (2d ed.; Giessen: Brunnen, 1992), 129–46, thinks that Philo regarded all three branches of the later Scriptures as canonical. Folker Siegert, “Early Jewish Interpretation in a Hellenistic Style,” in Hebrew Bible/Old Testament: The History of its Interpretation (ed. Magne Saebo; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1996), 130–98, esp. 175–76, stands at the other end of the spectrum. He argues against a tripartite Scripture in favor of the unique place of the Pentateuch but qualifies this by pointing out that inspired authority resided with persons rather than writings in Philo’s thought. David M. Hay, “Philo’s View of Himself as an Exegete: Inspired, but Not Authoritative,” SPhiloA 3 (1991): 40–52, esp. 42, holds a mediating position: “Apparently Philo considers the Pentateuch the basic expression of God’s revelation and the rest of Scripture (prophets, psalms, and proverbs, especially) as a kind of commentary on it or secondary scripture.” So also David T. Runia, “Philo’s Reading of the Psalms,” SPhiloA 13 (2001): 102–21, esp. 111–13. I am largely in agreement with Hay and Runia, but also want to note that Philo did not have a closed canon in the way that we think of it. 2  QG covers only Gen 2:4–28:9 and QE only Exod 12:2–28:24; the Allegorical Commentary is restricted to Gen 2:1–18:2 (the Allegorical Commentary provides extensive treatments of other texts from the Pentateuch in secondary and tertiary lemmata); and the Exposition of the Law is devoted to the Pentateuch. 3  The count is based on the citation index of Ioannes Leisegang in Leopold Cohn et al., eds., Philonis Alexandrini opera quae supersunt (7 vols.; Berlin: Georg Reimer, 1896–1930; 2d. ed.; Berlin: de Gruyter, 1962), 7.1:29–43.

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beyond the Pentateuch; 8,215 of these or 97% are to the Pentateuch.4 In short, the Pentateuch overshadowed everything else. Among the other texts that Philo cited were four prophets whom he introduces with an explicit citation formula 10 times: Isaiah, Jeremiah, Hosea, and Zechariah.5 He typically uses one of two different formulae when he introduces a citation from the prophets (see below). In a fascinating exception that introduces a quotation of Jer 3:4 he writes: “For I myself was initiated into the greater mysteries under the God-loved Moses.” He continues, “Nevertheless, when I perceived and came to know Jeremiah the prophet—that he was not only an initiate but also a capable mystagogue—I did not hesitate to become attached to him.”6 I have called this formula exceptional for two reasons. First, it is the only time that Philo introduces a prophetic text by naming the prophet. It is true that he names Moses as an author,7 but never a prophet. Why did Philo name Jeremiah? It is not the case that he cites or alludes to Jeremiah more than he cites or alludes to any other prophet. Like the residents of Qumran and the authors of the New Testament, he cites or alludes to Isaiah more than any other prophet.8 Why single Jeremiah out? Second, the autobiographical reference is intriguing. Philo uses the distinction between the “greater mysteries” and the “lesser mysteries” to refer to his relationship to Moses and to Jeremiah respectively.9 Erwin R. Goodenough argues that the references to the mysteries 4  For details see Gregory E. Sterling, “When the Beginning is the End: The Place of Genesis in the Commentaries of Philo,” in The Book of Genesis: Composition, Reception, and Interpretation (eds. Craig A. Evans, Joel N. Lohr, and David L. Petersen; VTSup 152; Leiden: Brill, 2012), 427–46, esp. 437–38. All counts are based on Jean Allenbach et al., eds., Biblia patristica, Supplément: Philon d’Alexandrie (Paris: Centre national de la recherché scientifique, 1982). 5  Isa 5:7 in Somn. 2.172; Isa 48:22//57:21 in Mut. 169; Isa 51:2 in QG 2.26; and Isa 54:1 in Praem. 158; Jer 2:13 in Fug. 197; Jer 3:4 in Cher. 49; and Jer 15:10 in Conf. 44; Hos 14:9–10 in Plant. 138 and Mut. 139; Zech 6:12 in Conf. 62. 6  Philo, Cher. 49. All translations are my own. 7  E.g., Philo, Aet. 19, Moses wrote five books; Migr. 14, Moses wrote Exodus. Philo routinely uses the third person singular pronoun when he refers to the Pentateuch, and it is often difficult to determine whether the antecedent is God, Moses, or the biblical text itself. 8  The counts for combined citations and allusions are: Isaiah 24×, Jeremiah 18×, Ezekiel 7× (all in Spec.), Hosea 7×, and Zechariah 2×. These counts are based on Allenbach, Biblia patristica. 9  For a similar distinction between the “greater” and “lesser” mysteries, see Philo, Sacr. 62 and Mos. 1.62. See also Leg. 3.100; Sacr. 60; Deus 61; Contempl. 25; and QG 4.8 for references to the mysteries of God.

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were an indicator of the nature of the Judaism that Philo knew.10 Goodenough’s understanding of both mystery religions and Hellenistic Judaism are considered problematic today. While we no longer understand the mystery religions to be forerunners to Christianity or Greek-speaking Judaism to be a mystery religion, the comparison between Moses and Jeremiah as mystagogues is striking. It connects Jeremiah to Moses to a degree that Philo does not connect Moses to any other prophet. Again, I ask why. In this contribution, I would like to explore the significance of Jeremiah for Philo. Very little work has been done on the reception of Jeremiah in Philo.11 I propose to explore the significance of Jeremiah in Philo by examining the citation formulae briefly and then exploring the possible reasons why Philo may have singled out Jeremiah in this unique citation formula. 1

The Citation Formulae

Philo cites Jeremiah three times. We have already noted the first citation formula and its uniqueness. In order to appreciate its unusual character, I will briefly note the other two citation formulae that are characteristic of Philo’s citations of prophetic texts.

10  Erwin R. Goodenough, By Light, Light: The Mystic Gospel of Hellenistic Judaism (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1935; repr., Amsterdam: Philo, 1969). 11  There are only two studies that provide any extended analyses of Jeremiah in Philo. Christian Wolff, Jeremia im Frühjudentum und Urchristentum (TU 118; Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 1976), 152–55, notes that the citations of Jeremiah in Philo agree with the wording of the LXX. Naomi Cohen, Philo’s Scriptures: Citations from the Prophets and Writings. Evidence for a Haftarah Cycle in Second Temple Judaism (JSHSup 123; Leiden: Brill, 2007), esp. 87–96 and 175–97, makes a case for the relationship between Philo’s citations and the haftorah as well as an argument about allegorical interpreters in Alexandria. I find the suggestion that Philo drew from a haftorah problematic for two major reasons. The citations are from different sets of Philonic commentaries that were probably produced over a long period of time and probably for different audiences. The sequence that she sets up in the Philonic corpus is artificial. Further, Philo has a rationale for the inclusion of a secondary lemma that is based on its relationship to the primary lemma. Cohen ignores the contextual reasons why Philo cited a particular prophetic text in a specific discussion. I note some of these in the discussion below. For a brief discussion of the rationale for connecting primary and secondary or tertiary lemmata see David T. Runia, “The Structure of Philo’s Allegorical Treatise De agricultura,” SPhiloA 22 (2010): 87–109, esp. 94–96.

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1.1 The Anonymous Formula I prefer to call the first formula the anonymous formula. Philo uses it to introduce 6 of the 10 citations from the prophets. In his interpretation of Gen 14:7 that refers to “the spring (πηγή) of judgment,” Philo uses a catchword to associate Jer 2:13, which he introduces without a specific identification: “Now it is necessary to speak about the supreme and best spring (πηγή) that the Father of All declared through prophetic mouths. For he said somewhere, ‘They abandoned me, a spring (πηγή) of life . . .’ ”12 Philo introduces three of his four citations of Isaiah and both of his citations of Hosea with a similar formula. For example, he introduces the famous passage about the vineyard (ἀμπελών) of the Lord in Isaiah in association with his interpretation of the vine (ἄμπελoς) in Gen 40:9 with these words: “Someone from among the ancient prophets testifies for me, who prophesied (ἐπιθειάσας) and said . . .’ ”13 Similarly, Philo introduces his citations from Hosea with the anonymous formula. For example, in an elaborate interpretation of Lev 19:25 that gives permission to eat the fruit of a tree in the fifth year of its existence,14 he links Leah’s fifth son, Issachar, whose name means “reward”15 on the basis of the catchword “fifth.” He then argues that the final two phrases in Lev 19:25, “crops” and “I am the LORD your God,” indicate that God is the source of the “crops” or the fruit of the soul. He continues: “the following oracle given in one of the prophets agrees with this: ‘From me your fruit is found . . .”16 Philo introduces other non-pentateuchal texts with the same formula, e.g., it was a standard form of introduction to a quotation or paraphrase from the Psalter.17 Why does Philo leave the author unnamed? It may be that Philo cited these texts from memory and simply did not want to reach for a scroll or did not have 12  Philo, Fug. 197. See also §§199, 201 for references to Jer 2:13. 13  Philo, Somn. 2.172, introducing Isa 5:7. The association between the two texts is clearly based on a catchword: ἄμπελoς (“vine”) in Gen 40:9 (cited in Somn. 2.159) and ἀμπελών (“vineyard”) in Isa 5:7 (cited in Somn. 2.172). See also Mut. 169, introducing either Isa 48:22 or 57:21; and QG 2.26, introducing Isa 51:2. 14  Philo, Plant. 94–95. 15  Gen 30:18 cited in Philo, Plant. 134. 16  Philo, Plant. 138, introducing Hos 14:9–10. This exegesis uses both a catchword, “fifth,” and a thematic connection. The introduction of Hos 14:9–10 is based on the thematic connection. See also Mut. 139, introducing Hos 14:9–10. 17  Philo, Agr. 50, introducing Ps 23(22):1; Plant. 29, introducing Ps 94(93):9; Conf. 52, introducing Ps 80(79):7; Migr. 157, introducing Ps 42(41):4 and 80(79):6; Her. 290, introducing Ps 84(83):11; Fug. 59, introducing Ps 115:17–18; Mut. 115, introducing Ps 23(22):1; Somn. 1.75, introducing Ps 27(26):1; 2.242, introducing Ps 37(36):4. On Philo’s use of the Psalms generally see Runia, “Philo’s Reading of the Psalms,” 102–21.

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one handy and so referred to the prophet in a general way. Alternatively, he may have been reluctant to refer to any prophet by name in order to minimize their role vis-à-vis Moses. This would make sense of the second formula below in which a prophet is associated with Moses, but not named. The anonymous formula might be a shortened form of the fuller disciple of Moses formula. It is worth noting that Philo did not routinely refer to the books of the Pentateuch by name, although he knew the names of the books and did use them on occasion.18 Moses is, of course, the exception. 1.2 The Disciple of Moses Formula The second formula employed by Philo refers to the prophet as a disciple of Moses. The Alexandrian commentator introduces 3 of the 10 citations of the prophets in this way. So, for example, in his interpretation of Gen 42:11 in which Joseph’s brothers protest to Pharaoh that they are people of peace,19 Philo recognizes that sometimes a person of peace must be willing to engage in combat. This leads him to cite Jer 15:10, in which the prophet protests the battles in which he finds himself. Philo introduces the citation from Jeremiah with the following words: “First the mind of each lover of virtue that is inclined in this way testifies to my discourse.” He continues: “then a member of the prophetic chorus who under the impulse of divine inspiration declared . . .”20 Shortly after this, Philo introduces a citation from Zechariah in a similar way: “I heard one of the companions of Moses declare this oracle . . .”21 He uses the same formula for one of his citations of Isaiah: “Wherefore the following statement was given as law by some prophet who was a disciple and friend of Moses . . .”22 Philo also uses the same formula when introducing citations from the Psalter and Proverbs.23 Why does Philo associate the prophets with Moses? As we noted earlier, Philo regards Moses as the standard by which all others are measured. The connection between the prophets and Moses gives them a more elevated 18  See Burkhardt, Die Inspiration heiliger Schriften bei Philo von Alexandrien, 73–74; Naomi Cohen, “The Names of the Separate Books of the Pentateuch in Philo’s Writings,” SPhiloA 9 (1997): 54–78; and eadem, Philo’s Scriptures, 25–53. 19  Philo, Conf. 41. 20  Philo, Conf. 44, introducing Jer 15:10. See also §§ 49 and 51. The connection between the lemmata is thematic. 21  Philo, Conf. 62, introducing Zech 6:12. 22  Philo, QG 2.43, introducing Isa 1:9. 23  Philo, Plant. 39, introducing Ps 37(36):4; Conf. 39, introducing Ps 31(30):19; and Somn. 2.245, introducing Ps 65(64):10; Philo, Congr. 177, introducing Prov 3:11–12. It appears that Solomon is named as the author here, contra Cohen, Philo’s Scriptures, 184.

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status than they would otherwise have. Expressed in literary terms, it links these oracles to the Pentateuch. Recently, Naomi Cohen has argued for a more ambitious reading of this formula. She suggests that the references are to a group of allegorical interpreters to which Philo once belonged.24 As intriguing as I find this—there were certainly allegorical interpreters besides Philo in Alexandria,25 it fails to recognize the literary function of the formula as an introductory formula to the prophetic text that is cited. The references elevate the status of the prophetic scrolls rather than describe a group of allegorical interpreters. This leaves the formula with which we opened. How do we explain it? 2

Moses and Jeremiah

Philo never offers a comment on Jeremiah. All that we have are the statements that we have already noted. This means that we can only attempt to answer the question by considering indirect evidence. I will consider three possibilities. 2.1 Jeremiah and Moses We begin at the point that is most natural to a modern scholar. The connections between Jeremiah and Moses26 and between the book of Jeremiah and

24  Cohen, Philo’s Scriptures, 175–97. 25  For a collection of the references in Philo to these interpreters see David M. Hay, “Philo’s References to Other Allegorists,” SPhilo 6 (1979–1980): 41–76. These allegorists have been the subject of numerous investigations; however, we have never been able to penetrate the anonymous identity that they have in Philo. Two full length studies include Thomas H. Tobin, The Creation of Man: Philo and the History of Interpretation (CBQMS 14; Washington, D.C.: Catholic Biblical Association, 1983), who attempted to work out a genealogical pattern for the exegetical traditions that Philo inherited, and Richard Goulet, La philosophie de Moïse: Essai de reconstruction d’un commentaire philosophique préphilonnien du Pentateuque (Histoire des doctrines d l’Antiquité classique 11; Paris: Vrin, 1987), who argued that a group of earlier allegorists had written a commentary on the Pentateuch that Philo inherited but mangled. 26  E.g., William L. Holladay, The Background of Jeremiah’s Self-Understanding: Moses, Samuel, and Psalm 22,” JBL 83 (1964): 153–64; idem, “Jeremiah and Moses: Further Observations,” JBL 85 (1966): 17–27; and Luis Alonso Schökel, “Jeremías como anti-Moisés,” in De la Torah au Messie: Études d’exégèse et d’herméneutique bibliques offertes à Henri Cazelles pour 25 années d’enseignement à l’Institut catholique de Paris (ed. Maurice Carrez, Joseph Doré, and Pierre Grelot; Paris: Desclée, 1981), 245–54.

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Deuteronomy or the Deuteronomistic History27 are standard considerations for modern students of Jeremiah. While the latter literary issue is a given in modern scholarship, it is doubtful on a priori grounds that Philo would have recognized it. In addition, we have no evidence that would permit us to make a judgment about it. We turn then to the relationship between Moses and Jeremiah to see if Philo had any awareness of the similarities between their biographical portrayals. The obvious place to begin to look is in the call narratives where the similarities between the two are evident in the biblical tradition. Both have visions prior to their calls: Moses of the burning bush and Jeremiah of the almond tree.28 Both express reluctance to speak for God and refer to God’s putting words into their mouths.29 More particularly, Jer 1:7, “whatever I command you, you will speak” appears to be modeled on Deut 18:18, “and I will put my word into his mouth, and he will speak to them whatever I command him,”30 making Jeremiah stand in the tradition of Mosaic prophets. Is there any evidence that Philo knew these parallels? Since we do not have any statements about Jeremiah but have a full account of Moses, we might reverse the perspective and ask whether Philo colored his account of Moses with allusions to Jeremiah. The Alexandrian narrates the call of Moses in De vita Mosis, but there are no citations or allusions to Jeremiah.31 Philo did make the distinction between the “greater mysteries” and the “lesser mysteries” in the context of Moses’s call, but made no association with Jeremiah as he did in the formula that we are considering.32 The only hint that we have of a Moses-Jeremiah parallel is that Philo called Jeremiah a προφήτης, a term that is used explicitly in Jeremiah’s call narrative. However, Philo could easily have considered Jeremiah a prophet simply on the basis of his book without making any connection to Deut 18. In nuce, there is no concrete evidence that Philo read Jeremiah in light of his retelling of Exodus. He was an incredibly close reader of texts as his three sets of commentaries demonstrate. It is hard for me to believe that he did not hear echoes of Exodus when he read Jer 1:4–20, but it is not demonstrable. 27  E.g., Winfried Thiel, Die deuteronomistische Redaktion von Jeremia 1–25 (WMANT 41; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1973) and idem, Die deuteronomistiche Redaktion von Jeremia 26–52 (WMANT 52; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1981). 28  Exod 3:2–6 and Jer 1:11–12. 29  Exod 4:10–17 and Jer 1:7–8. 30  I have translated from the LXX since Philo read Greek, but not Hebrew. 31  Philo, Mos. 1.65–84. 32  Philo, Mos. 1.62.

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2.2 Local History The second factor that we should consider is that Second Temple Jews—like many others—took pride in drawing connections between their communities and their ancestors.33 Let me offer four examples. Artapanus, a second-century bce Jewish author, wrote a history of the Jewish people in Egypt. We have three fragments:34 the first relates the story of Abraham in Egypt, the second narrates the career of Joseph in Egypt, and the third chronicles the career of Moses. It is more than accidental that Artapanus has selected the three ancestors who had careers in Egypt. If Alexander Polyhistor, who excerpts Artapanus’s work, has not misled us, Artapanus elides or telescopes the events in Abraham’s life that were not set in Egypt. The same concern to focus on Egypt is evident in the account of Moses: the work appears to close with the crossing of the Red Sea. It appears that Artapanus wanted to relate the stories of Israel’s ancestors in Egypt—and did so in spectacular ways! A second author who also focused on Egypt is Pseudo-Hecataeus, also a second-century bce Jew, only one who wrote under a pseudonym.35 The fragments begin with the migration of the Jews into Egypt in the early Ptolemaic period. The motive for the migration comes from the High Priest Hezekiah in Jerusalem, who wants to move into the heart of Ptolemy’s kingdom with the hope of improving the lives of the members of the community who had suffered under the Persians. The fragments go on to provide an ethnographic description of the land and of Jewish customs. The fulcrum of the fragments is the decision of Hezekiah to migrate to Egypt, a fulcrum that permits the author to legitimate the Jewish community in Egypt. Egyptian Jews were not the only group who attempted to connect their community with the past in a way that legitimated their existence outside of Israel. A first century bce Jew named Cleodamus Malchus made a move 33  For greater detail see Gregory E. Sterling, “ ‘Opening the Scriptures’: The Legitimation of the Jewish Diaspora and the Early Christian Mission,” in Jesus and the Heritage of Israel: Luke’s Narrative Claim upon Israel’s Legacy (ed. David P. Moessner; Luke the Interpreter of Israel 1; Harrisburg, PA: Trinity Press International, 1999), 199–225, esp. 202–8. 34  I have used the edition of Carl R. Holladay, Historians (vol. 1 of Fragments from Hellenistic Jewish Authors; SBLTT 20//SBLPS 10; Chico, CA: Scholars Press, 1983), 189–243. See also Erich S. Gruen, “Artapanus,” in Outside the Bible: Ancient Jewish Writings Related to Scripture (ed. Louis L. Feldman, James L. Kugel, and Lawrence H. Schiffman; 3 vols.; Philadelphia: The Jewish Publication Society, 2013), 1:675–685. 35  For the fragments and analyses see Holladay, Historians, 277–335 and Bezalel Bar Kochva, Pseudo-Hecataeus, “On the Jews”: Legitimating the Jewish Diaspora (Hellenistic Culture and Society 21; Berkeley: University of California Press, 1996), esp. 232–48 and idem, “PseudoHecataeus, “On the Jews,” Outside the Bible, 1:714–20.

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similar to that of Artapanus.36 Cleodamus related stories about the three sons of Abraham through Keturah. The fragment appears to focus on the two sons who went to Africa and fought beside Heracles against Libya and Antaeus, the Libyan giant. If the fragment reflects the basic storyline, it suggests that Cleodamus was interested in making a connection between the Jewish community in Libya and Israel’s ancestors. Once again, it appears that geography and the author’s own situation have a connection. The final example is Pseudo-Eupolemus, a Samaritan author, whose work has been confused with the Jewish author Eupolemus.37 The fragments present Abraham as a Kulturbringer. The interesting aspect of the fragments for our purposes is that they concentrate on Samaria. The most telling statement is that Abraham was entertained “by the city at the temple Argarizin which is interpreted ‘mountain of the Most High.’ ”38 The narrative also reverses the biblical order of events and places Gen 14, Abraham’s rescue of Lot, before Gen 12:10–20, Abraham’s first journey into Egypt. This has the effect of giving the area of Phoenicia priority over Egypt, a priority that is made explicit in the final genealogy when Canaan is made the father of the Phoenicians and Mizraim. This puts the Egyptians a generation after the Phoenicians. It appears that Pseudo-Eupolemus wanted to privilege the northern area of Israel, especially Samaria. The most reasonable explanation is that he was a Samaritan who—like other writers—wanted to legitimate the Samaritan community by associating them with Israel’s ancestors in the most favorable way possible. What does this have to do with Philo’s reference to Jeremiah? According to the biographical stories in Jeremiah, a group of Jews who had been loyal to the assassinated governor took Jeremiah and Baruch with them to Egypt.39 This was probably a devastating blow to Jeremiah—especially if he had perceived himself as a prophet like Moses who was now forced to return to the land from which Moses had led the people. The blow was also severe since Jeremiah thought that the future lay with the community in Babylon. We know very little about Jeremiah in Egypt; there is no record of his basic activities or his death. We have only two chapters that record oracles set in Egypt.40 Perhaps Baruch died. Whatever happened, the stories forever linked Jeremiah 36  Holladay, Historians, 245–59. There is a good deal of uncertainty about Cleodamus Malchus. 37  Holladay, Historians, 157–87. See also Gregory E. Sterling, “Pseudo-Eupolemus,” Outside the Bible, 1:705–13. 38  Frg. 1 (=Eusebius, Praep. ev. 9.17.5). 39  Jer 42:1–43:7. 40  Jer 43:8–44:30.

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with Egypt. Did Philo give Jeremiah a pride of place because he was perceived as a prophet who belonged to the Jewish community of Egypt? Once again, we cannot answer this question with any certainty, but the practice of making connections between a community and a hero of the past certainly makes it a possibility. Philo was proud of Alexandria, his home city.41 He may well have taken note of Jeremiah’s final residence and given him a pride of place as the Egyptian Jewish prophet. 2.3 A Venerated Prophet? There is one other possibility, a possibility that is directly linked to the preceding. A series of legends arose from the story of the fall of Jerusalem and Jeremiah’s forced move to Egypt. Let me mention three. The best known of the stories is that Jeremiah took the ark and its contents when the Babylonians sacked and destroyed Jerusalem and the temple. The earliest versions of this tradition go back to Eupolemus, a second-century bce Jewish historian, and the second letter prefaced to 2 Maccabees. Eupolemus simply states that when Nebuchadnezzar took the wealth of the temple back to Babylon, he did so “without the ark and the tablets in it. Jeremiah withheld this.”42 The version in the second letter prefaced to 2 Maccabees is much fuller. It claims that Jeremiah ordered some of the people to follow him to Mount Nebo with the tabernacle, the ark, and the altar of incense. When he reached Mount Nebo, he hid them in a cave chamber and blocked up the door where they would remain in secret until God gathered in the people.43 Later authors picked up this tradition and played with it in different ways.44 Some later traditions simply indicate that the ark was swallowed up by the earth, although the narrative of 4 Baruch leads a reader to believe that Jeremiah and Baruch buried it in 41  Philo, Opif. 17b–18. See David T. Runia, “Polis and Megapolis: Philo and the Founding of Alexandria,” Mnemosyne 42 (1989): 398–412. 42  Eupolemus Frg. 4 (=Eusebius, Praep. ev. 9.39.2–5). On Eupolemus and the tradition see Ben Zion Wacholder, Eupolemus: A Study of Judaeo-Greek Literature (HUCM 3; Cincinnati: Hebrew Union College-Jewish Institute of Religion, 1974), 237–42. Wacholder thinks that Eupolemus might be the author of the letter in 2 Maccabees, an interesting, but speculative suggestion. 43  2 Macc 2:1–10. The entire letter is 1:10b–2:18. 44  The tradition about the survival of the ark was even known to the Roman polymath Alexander Polyhistor (Eusebius, Praep. ev. 9.39). See FGrH 723 frg. 5 and Menahem Stern, Greek and Latin Authors on Jews and Judaism (3 vols.; Jerusalem: Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities, 1974–1984), 1:159–162. Polyhistor knew the works of Eupolemus and would have known the tradition through his work. It is possible that the residents of Qumran knew the tradition, although this is far from certain. See 4Q385b.

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the vicinity of Jerusalem.45 The Samaritans had their own version and claimed that the ark and the vessels of the temple were buried in Mount Gerizim.46 The most intriguing later account for our purposes is the version in the Lives of the Prophets.47 The early Jewish author knew the same basic tradition as we find in 2 Maccabees and may have drawn from 2 Maccabees as a source.48 The later author has, however, expanded it. The story claims that Jeremiah hid the ark in a rock and claimed that only Aaron could bring it out and only Moses could explain the tablets in it. The rock is situated between Hor and Nebo or the two mountains where Aaron and Moses were buried. In the resurrection, the ark will be placed on Mount Sinai. The association of Jeremiah with Moses is even stronger than it was in 2 Maccabees. The author concludes with the statement: “God granted Jeremiah this favor, to perform the completion of his mystery so that he might be a companion of Moses, and the two are together until this day.”49 The language of the text is strikingly similar to the formula that we are considering. The comparison between Moses and Jeremiah is evident in the second tradition as well. According to a legend preserved in both Artapanus and Josephus, Moses went on a campaign against the Ethiopians. Although Artapanus and Josephus vary in detail, they both associated Moses with the removal of snakes through the use of ibises.50 Intriguingly, the Lives of the Prophets has a similar 45   4 Bar 3:7–20. Cf. 2 Bar 6:7–10, which only states that they are hidden in the earth. 46  Josephus, A.J. 18.85–87. 47  I have used the edition of Charles C. Torrey, The Lives of the Prophets: Greek Text and Translation (SBLMS 1; Philadelphia: Society of Biblical Literature and Exegesis, 1946), 21–22, 35–36, and 49–52. I consider the work to be Jewish and date it to the first century ce. It was preserved by Christians, a fact that led David Satran to situate it later in the fourth century when pilgrimages for Christians were introduced. See David Satran, Biblical Prophets in Byzantine Palestine: Reassessing the Lives of the Prophets (SVTP 11; Leiden: Brill, 1995). I do not question the use of the work by Christians, but find that the incorporation of earlier traditions that are known to be Jewish (e.g., the removal of the ark) and the absence of any Christian prophets suggest that the focus was initially Jewish. 48  So Torrey, The Lives of the Prophets, 10 and Jonathan Goldstein, II Maccabees: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 41A; Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday, 1983), 183. Wacholder, Eupolemus, 240, thought that Eupolemus was the ultimate source for the version in the Liv. Pro. 49   Liv. Pro. Jer. 9–15. The citation is from § 15. 50  According to Artapanus, Frg. 3 (Eusebius, Praep. ev. 9.27.9), Moses founded the city of Hermes where the ibis is venerated. According to Josephus, A.J. 2.245–47, Moses carried the ibises in papyrus baskets to kill the deadly snakes along his route. For an analysis see Gregory E. Sterling, Historiography & Self-definition: Josephos, Luke-Acts & Apologetic Historiography (NovTSup 64; Leiden/New York/Köln, 1992), 268–80, esp. 269–79.

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story, only it associates the removal of asps with Jeremiah.51 According to this first century ce Jewish Palestinian author, the Egyptians held Jeremiah in high esteem because he had driven snakes away through prayer.52 While both stories remind a modern of St. Patrick in Ireland, it is worth noting that Moses and Jeremiah are assigned similar roles in the traditions. There is a third tradition that is significant. The Life of Jeremiah tells the story of his stoning and burial at Taphnes.53 The text claims that he was buried near Pharaoh’s palace because of the esteem in which he was held as a result of driving away the snakes through intercessory prayer.54 The text then makes some comments about the burial place: “And those who are God’s faithful pray at this place to this day and take the dust of the place and heal asp bites.”55

51   Liv. Pro. Jer. 2–4. 52   Liv. Pro. Jer. 1. 53   Liv. Pro. Jer. 1–4, 6. The biblical basis for the tradition is Jer 43:8–9, although the legend in Liv. Pro. Jer. is considerably enhanced. There are a significant number of problems with the text at this point. The first major problem is in §§3–4. The best reconstruction identifies the asps with epoth (καὶ αἱ ἀσπίδες αὐτοὺς ἔασαν, [ἃς] καλοῦσιν οἱ Αἰγύπτοι ἐφώθ). D. R. A. Hare follows the lead of the Greek mss and translates: “and the asps left them, and the monsters of the waters which the Egyptians call Nephoth and the Greeks crocodiles” (“The Lives of the Prophets,” in Old Testament Pseudepigrapha [2 vols.; ed. James H. Charlesworth; Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday, 1983–1985], 2:38–387). While this translates the mss tradition, the reference to crocodiles may well be a secondary insertion based on confusion between the transliteration of the Hebrew for snakes ephoth and the Egyptian word for crocodiles nephoth (Torrey, Lives of the Prophets, 52; followed by Joachim Jeremias, Heiligengräber in Jesu Umwelt (Mt. 23, 29; Lk. 11, 27): Eine Untersuchung zur Volksreligion der Zeit Jesu (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1958), 109 n.). The second problem (§6) is also challenging. After Alexander scattered Jeremiah’s remains around the boundaries that would be Alexandria and drove the asps away, the narrator adds: “that in this way he introduced {the snakes} the argolai, that is the snake-fighters which he [i.e., Alexander] brought from Argos in the Peloponnese, from which fact they are called argolai, that is the fortunate from Argos. For they say that everything fortunate is laios.” Torrey, Lives of the Prophets, 21, drops “the snakes,” regarding it as an insertion found in D and the Syriac. It is unambiguously problematic. He also considers the entire etymological section to be a later insertion (followed again by Jeremias, Heiligen Gräber in Jesu Umwelt, 109). This may once again be due to confusion about etymologies. The “snakefighter” (ὀφιομάχης) is mentioned in Lev 11:22. It was apparently known to Egyptian Jews who translated Lev in the LXX. They knew the ὀφιομάχης by the Aramaic word argola. When this connection was lost, an etymological connection was created that made sense for Alexander. Both of Torrey’s solutions are possible, but both depend upon complex associations. 54   Liv. Pro. Jer. 2–3. 55   Liv. Pro. Jer. 4.

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It goes on to report a tradition that when Alexander of Macedon came to the site and saw the mysteries celebrated there (ἐπιγνοὺς αὐτοῦ τὰ μυστήρια), he decided to remove the prophet’s remains to his new city of Alexandria, where he sprinkled them around the boundaries of the city with due honor to keep asps out of the city.56 While the specifics of this latter legend are debatable,57 there are enough traditions about Jeremiah in Egypt to suggest that he was venerated in some way. Perhaps his traditional burial site had become like the monumental tombs in ancient Jerusalem or like the modern ancestral burial sites in Israel/Palestine. According to the seventh century ce Christian John Moschus, there was a tomb of Jeremiah in Alexandria. Moschus wrote: “The place of the Tetrapylon is held to be very sacred by the Alexandrians. For they say that Alexander, the founder of the city, took the remains of the prophet Jeremiah from Egypt and deposited them there.”58 While the Alexander material is clearly legendary, the statement attests a tradition about the burial site for Jeremiah that extended over centuries. The presentation is different than Philo’s, which presents Jeremiah as a mystagogue who could interpret the secrets of God and not as an object of veneration whose tomb served as a prophylactic against snakes or some other disaster. At the same time, it may well be that we should understand Philo’s statement to be a reference to a popular tradition among Jews in Egypt who held Jeremiah in particularly high esteem. Philo has his own take on the tradition, but he appears to know it and is prepared to use it to effect. 3

Conclusions

We began by noting the unusual nature of Philo’s introductory frame for his citation of Jer 3:4. While it is possible to take it as pure rhetorical flourish, I have tried to indicate that it may well reflect the standing that Jeremiah had among Egyptian Jews. The evidence is all indirect, but there are enough pieces 56   Liv. Pro. Jer. 5–6. 57  Jeremias, Heilsgräber in Jesu Umwelt, 108–10, suggests that the statement referred to the founding of Alexandria. M. Simon, “Les Saints d’Israel dans la devotion de l’Église ancienne,” RHPR 34 (1954): 98–127, esp. 124, thinks that it represented a later move urged by Christians to keep naïve Christians away from a sacred Jewish site that they might find attractive. 58  John Moschos, Patrum spiritual 77 (MPG 87.3 2929f.). Cited by Jeremias, Heiligen Gräber in Jesu Umwelt, 110.

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of evidence to suggest that some Jews thought that Jeremiah had special powers. They also told traditions in which Jeremiah directly complemented or competed with Moses. Philo uses these traditions to give a nod to Jeremiah in connection with Moses; however, his loyalties to Moses and the Pentateuch were perfectly clear. Jeremiah was the Jewish prophet of Egypt; however, he was not the lawgiver from Egypt. He was like Moses—perhaps more so than any other prophet, but he was not Moses.

Chapter 37

Philo and Jeremiah: A Mysterious Passage in De Cherubim. A Response to Gregory E. Sterling René Bloch Gregory Sterling’s paper on Jeremiah and Philo in this volume—as always acute, stimulating and wide-ranging—is, to my knowledge, the very first piece of scholarship focusing exclusively on Philo’s reading of Jeremiah. The topic has certainly been touched upon a couple of times, but it has not been treated in a more extensive manner. Christian Wolff, in his still very helpful University of Greifswald dissertation on Jeremiah in early Judaism and Christianity published in 1976, devoted a couple of pages to Jeremiah and Philo.1 Wolff speaks of an “intense engagement with the book of Jeremiah” by Philo.2 This is a statement not easily proven. As has become clear from Gregory Sterling’s paper, we have very little evidence that Philo of Alexandria read and used Jeremiah. But Philo clearly knew the prophet. Three times in his large oeuvre Philo cites passages from Jeremiah: in De Cherubim (On the Cherubim) 49, in De Fuga et Inventione (On Flight and Finding) 197, and in De Confusione Linguarum (On the Confusion of Tongues) 44.3 In only one of these three passages, the one from De Cherubim, Philo actually calls the prophet by name (“the prophet Jeremiah”). As a matter of fact, this is the only time in his whole oeuvre where Philo cites a passage from any biblical prophet referring to the prophet by name. On the other two occasions where Philo cites Jeremiah, he refers only vaguely to “the mouth of the prophets” (Fug. 197) or to “a member of the prophetic choir” (Conf. 44).4 Christian Wolff suspects that Philo’s “intense” interest in Jeremiah 1  Christian Wolff, Jeremia im Frühjudentum und Urchristentum (TUGAL 118; Berlin: AkademieVerlag, 1976), 152–55. 2  Wolff, Jeremia, 154 (“die intensive Beschäftigung mit dem Jeremia-Buch”). 3  In Cher. 49 Philo cites Jer 3:4, in Fug. 197 he cites Jer 2:13, and in Conf. 44 he cites Jer 15:10. Philo follows quite closely the text of the Septuagint (for minor differences cf. Wolff, Jeremia, 152–55). 4  Philo, Conf. 44: τοῦ προφητικοῦ θιασώτης χοροῦ. Wolff, Jeremia, 153, rightly rejects the German translation in Leopold Cohn et al., eds., Philo von Alexandria: Die Werke in deutscher Übersetzung (2d. ed.; Berlin: de Gruyter, 1962), 5:113, which reads “Führer des prophetischen Chors” (“leader of the prophetic choir”). As a matter of fact, θιασώτης nowhere in Philo refers to a “leader,” but always to a companion or member of a group (cf. Somn. 2.254 and passim).

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���7 | doi ��.��63/9789004320253_038

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should be explained by the fact that after the destruction of Jerusalem the prophet lived in Egypt.5 Philo would then be just another example of a particular interest in Jeremiah by Jews living in the Egyptian diaspora. Gregory Sterling, too, in a much more detailed manner, links Philo’s interest in Jeremiah to the latter’s time in Egypt. We will come back to this. The only other study dealing more extensively with Philo and Jeremiah besides the dissertation by Wolff is Naomi Cohen’s 2007 monograph Philo’s Scriptures: Citations from the Prophets and Writings: Evidence for a Haftarah Cycle in Second Temple Judaism, also cited in Sterling’s paper. Cohen points out that two of the three Jeremiah citations in Philo (Jer 2:13 in Fug. 197 and Jer 3:4 in Cher. 49) “appear in Haftarot for the three Sabbaths of Admonition.” Moreover, Cohen observes “that the overwhelming majority of Philo’s citations from the Latter Prophets are found in one or another of the Haftarot belonging to the ‘Admonition, Consolation and Repentance’ Haftarah cycle” and that “of the (. . .) twelve different citations from the Latter Prophets in Philo’s oeuvre, at least nine are found in (. . .) the Haftarah cycle that begins with the 17th of Tammuz and ends after Yom Kippur.”6 To Cohen this is a clear indication that long before the destruction of the Second Temple there was some sort of a cycle of Haftarot and that Philo’s readers were familiar with these prophetic texts from liturgy. I doubt the validity of Cohen’s argument: the evidence of citations in Philo from texts outside the Torah is too meager (about 40 citations) to draw such a wide-ranging conclusion. Given the very limited evidence, it may not be surprising that only few scholars have dealt with Philo’s response to Jeremiah. However, as Sterling’s paper shows, even if that evidence is small, it proves worthwhile asking why Philo clearly had some interest in Jeremiah. The most interesting passage for our question is certainly De Cherubim 49. The wider context of this passage is Gen 4:1: “Now Adam knew his wife Heua, and after she had conceived she Conf. 44 thus cannot be taken as proof that Philo was an enthusiastic admirer of Jeremiah, as is suggested in a note to the German translation (“Philo ist schwärmerischer Verehrer des Propheten Jeremias”). 5  Wolff, Jeremia, 154. 6  Naomi G. Cohen, Philo’s Scriptures: Citations from the Prophets and Writings: Evidence for a Haftarah Cycle in Second Temple Judaism (JSJSup. 123). (Leiden: Brill, 2007), 68. Cf. also eadem, “Philo’s Cher. 40–52, Zohar III 31a, and BT Hag. 16a,” JJS 57 (2006): 191–209 and eadem, “The Prophetic Books of Alexandria: The Evidence from Philo Judaeus,” in Prophets, Prophecy, and Prophetic Texts in Second Temple Judaism (ed. Michael H. Floyd and Robert D. Haak; LHB/OTS 427; New York: T&T Clark, 2006), 166–93.

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bore Kain and said, ‘I have acquired a man through God.’ ”7 Philo interprets this verse using allegory, his favored hermeneutical tool: The intercourse between man and woman symbolizes the divine implantation of virtues into man’s soul. Sarah, Rebecca, Leah, and Zipporah stand for such virtues, while Eve (the mother of the murderer Cain) represents sensuality. Philo then slips into thoroughly mystical language (“this is a divine mystery, and its lesson is for the initiated who are worthy to receive the holiest secret”)8 and continues his argument by stating that it is God who sows good seed in the virtues. This, Philo says, is clear from what Moses “teaches” about the mating of the patriarchs and matriarchs.9 In very enthusiastic language, Philo then addresses the reader: “If you meet with anyone of the initiated, press him closely, cling to him, lest knowing of some still newer secret he hide it from you; stay not till you have learnt its full lesson.”10 This is when Philo, in a rather unusual autobiographical remark, brings in his encounter with the book of Jeremiah, whose verse “Have you not called upon me as ‘the house, the father and the husband of your virginity’?”11 fits in nicely with Philo’s description of God as the procreator of virtue. Philo states: I myself was initiated under Moses the God-beloved into his greater mysteries (μεγάλα μυστήρια), yet when I then saw the prophet Jeremiah and knew him (ὅμως αὖθις Ἱερεμίαν τὸν προφήτην ἰδὼν καὶ γνούς) to be not only initiated (ὅτι οὐ μόνον μύστης ἐστίν), but also a worthy teacher of mysteries (ἀλλὰ καὶ ἱεροφάντης ἱκανός), I did not hesitate to become his disciple. He, out of his manifold inspiration gave forth an oracle spoken in the person of God to Virtue the all-peaceful. “Have you not called upon me as “Your house, your father and the husband of your virginity”? (Jer 3:4).12

7  Biblical translations follow Albert Pietersma and Benjamin G. Wright, eds. A New English Translation of the Septuagint. New York: Oxford University Press, 2007. While Philo’s knowledge of Hebrew remains an open question, there is no doubt that when referring to the biblical text he used the Greek translation of the Bible. 8  Philo, Cher. 42. All translations of Philo are from the English edition published in the Loeb Classical Library LCL (at times slightly adjusted). 9  Ibid., 44–47. 10  Ibid., Cher. 48. 11  Jer 3:4. Philo follows the text of the Septuagint which differs from the Hebrew original. 12  Philo, Cher. 49.

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Philo then interprets that verse by Jeremiah allegorically: Thus he implies clearly that God is a house, the incorporeal dwelling-place of incorporeal ideas, that He is the father of all things, for He begat them, and the husband of Wisdom, dropping the seed of happiness for the race of mortals into good and virgin soil. For it is meet that God should hold converse with the truly virgin nature, that which is undefiled and free from impure touch; but it is the opposite with us. For the union of human beings that is made for the procreation of children, turns virgins into women. But when God begins to consort with the soul, He makes what before was a woman into a virgin again, for He takes away the degenerate and emasculate passions which unmanned it and plants instead the native growth of unpolluted virtues. Thus He will not talk with Sarah till she has ceased from all that is after the manner of women (Gen 18:11), and is ranked once more as a pure virgin.13 What exactly is Philo saying about Jeremiah? Philo, when he became aware of the prophet, realized that Jeremiah was not only himself initiated (μύστης), but that he was also a hierophant, thus initiating others.14 In De Cherubim Philo makes extensive use of the ritually loaded vocabulary for pagan mystery cults. While Philo thoroughly rejects mystery cults and considers them as outside the Mosaic law,15 he does not hesitate to use mystical vocabulary metaphorically in the context of philosophical and theological enlightenment. Following earlier philosophers, especially Plato, Philo refers to deep and esoteric insights 13  Ibid., Cher. 49–50. 14  In Greek literature ἱεροφάντης is the teacher of rites of sacrifice and worship and specifically the initiating priest at Eleusis: cf. LSJ, s.v. In Philo ἱεροφάντης can also refer to the high priest (Spec. 3.135), to Moses (Virt. 174), or the translators of the Septuagint (Mos. 2.40). 15  Philo, Spec. 1.319–320: “Furthermore, he (Moses) banishes from the sacred legislation the lore of occult rites and mysteries and all such imposture and buffoonery. He would not have those who were bred in such a commonwealth as ours take part in mummeries and clinging on to mystic fables despise the truth and pursue things which have taken night and darkness for their province, discarding what is fit to bear the light of day. Let none, therefore, of the followers and disciples of Moses either confer or receive initiation to such rites. For both in teacher and taught such action is gross sacrilege. For tell me, ye mystics, if these things are good and profitable, why do you shut yourselves up in profound darkness and reserve their benefits for three or four alone, when by producing them in the midst of the market-place you might extend them to every man and thus enable all to share in security a better and happier life?” Spec. 3.40 Philo mentions the initiating rites to the mysteries of Ceres which are performed by impious people.

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in mystical language.16 It then comes as no surprise that according to Philo, Moses was initiated into the “great mysteries”: There is a mind more perfect and more thoroughly cleansed, which has undergone initiation into the great mysteries, a mind which gains its knowledge of the First Cause not from created things, as one may learn the substance from the shadow, but lifting its eyes above and beyond creation obtains a clear vision of the uncreated One, so as from Him to apprehend both Himself and His shadow. To apprehend that was, we saw, to apprehend both the Word and this world. The mind of which I speak is Moses who says, “Disclose yourself to me. Let me see you recognizably” (Ex 33:13).17 Thus when Philo describes himself as having been initiated into Moses’ great mysteries (Cher. 49), he follows the paradigm of his great (and at the same time unattainable) ideal.18 There can be no better mystagogue under whom to be initiated into the greater mysteries of God than Moses. Philo is first of all a student of Moses, the “God-beloved” (or “dear to God,” θεοφιλής). The prophet Jeremiah was a secondary encounter: Only later (αὖθις: “thereafter”) Philo got to know Jeremiah. But then he did become his student “without hesitation.” This statement in De Cherubim 49 should be taken seriously. Philo presents himself as a pupil of Jeremiah, and equally important, he brings Jeremiah in proximity to Moses. Both were initiators and held the keys to the mysteries—not in a literal, but in a metaphorical sense: Both had insights into the deeper meaning of the world.19 And Philo, smart as ever, attended both schools, or so he says. 16  Cf. Plato, Gorg. 497c where Socrates makes the point that one should first get initiated into the “lesser mysteries,” only later into the “greater mysteries.” Philo, Sacr. 62 knows of the same distinction. 17  Philo, Leg. 3.100–101. 18  On Moses as Philo’s paradigm cf. René Bloch, “Alexandria in Pharaonic Egypt: Projections in De Vita Mosis,” Studia Philonica Annual 24 (2012): 69–84. 19  David Winston, “Was Philo a Mystic?” in Studies in Jewish Mysticism (ed. Joseph Dan and Frank Talmage; Cambridge, Mass.: Association for Jewish Studies, 1982), 15–39, rightly points out that the “characteristic earmarks of mystical experience” (ibid., 35) can easily be found in Philo (Winston mentions, among other characteristics, “knowledge of God as man’s supreme bliss” and “the soul’s yearning for the divine”). However, it is also true that often Philo uses mystical language simply to make an exegetical point. This is very much the case in Cher. 49, where Philo interprets Jer 3:4. On mystical language in Philo cf. Christoph Riedweg, Mysterienterminologie bei Platon, Philon und Klemens von Alexandrien (Untersuchungen zur antiken Literatur und Geschichte 26; Berlin: de Gruyter, 1987), 70–115, with discussion of earlier scholarship. Cf. also Naomi G. Cohen,

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He learned to uncover the mystical meaning of Scripture with the help of allegory. Yet, how important was Jeremiah really to Philo? As Gregory Sterling rightly states at the beginning of his paper, Philo considered the Torah/ Pentateuch “the authoritative body of Scripture.”20 Citations from and allusions to other biblical texts are extremely rare. Our passage in De Cherubim, as powerful as it is, does not really change this impression. Jer 3:4 (“Have you not called upon me as ‘Your house, your father and the husband of your virginity’?”) was just too perfect a proof text for Philo’s allegorical interpretation of Gen 4:1 (God as the procreator of virtue). A Jewish Veneration of Jeremiah in Egypt? Even if the evidence of Philo’s use of Jeremiah remains very limited, the passage in De Cherubim is striking. How come that Philo presents himself as a student of and congenial to Jeremiah? In his paper, Sterling suggests with great caution a number of factors that may have triggered Philo’s interest in Jeremiah. The one with which Sterling deals most extensively concerns Egypt. Sterling states correctly that Second Temple Jews proudly linked their communities with their ancestors and that quite often this relationship included, in one way or another, Egypt (where most of Jewish-Hellenistic literature was written). Sterling first refers to Artapanus (2nd century bce), who reinvents and strengthens the Egyptian careers of Abraham, Joseph, and Moses. Thus, in Artapanus, Joseph migrates to Egypt on his own request.21 Might then Philo’s interest in Jeremiah be explained by the fact that the prophet’s final residence was Egypt (Jer 42–43)? Was there, as suggested by Sterling, a Jewish veneration of Jeremiah in Egypt in which Philo participated? The argument that Philo may have felt particularly close to Jeremiah because the prophet had moved to Egypt is at first sight intriguing. Philo, after all, felt at home in Egypt: He speaks of “our Alexandria.” The city was his “fatherland” (πατρίς).22 However, I doubt that Philo’s sympathy for Jeremiah had anything to do with the prophet’s stay in Egypt as reported in the biblical book. As a matter of fact, the description of “The Mystery Terminology in Philo,” in Philo und das Neue Testament: Wechselseitige Wahrnehmungen: Internationales Symposium zum Corpus Judaeo-Hellenisticum, May 1–4, 2003 (ed. Roland Deines and Karl-Wilhem Niebuhr; WUNT 172; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2004), 173–87 and for a recent discussion Adam Afterman, “From Philo to Plotinus: The Emergence of Mystical Union,” JR 93 (2013): 177–96. 20  Gregory Sterling, “Jeremiah as Mystagogue: Jeremiah in Philo of Alexandria,” in this volume, p. 417. 21   Artapanus, frg. 2 (Eus. Praep. Ev. 9.23.1). 22  Philo, Legat. 150; Flacc. 46 (Jews consider the city in which they and their ancestors were reared as their fatherland).

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Egypt in the book of Jeremiah is thoroughly negative. When, after the conquest of Jerusalem by Nebuchadnezzar, the remnant people with their leaders ask Jeremiah for advice about where to go, Jeremiah’s response is very clear: Stay away from Egypt! Thus did the Lord say: If you incline your face towards Egypt and enter to live there, it shall also be that the sword, which you fear before it, shall find you in Egypt, and the famine, regarding which you have a concern before it, shall seize you in Egypt, and there you shall die. And there shall be: all the people and all the aliens which have set their faces towards the land of Egypt to live there, they shall expire by sword and by famine, and there shall not be any of them that escapes from the evils that I am bringing upon them, because thus did the Lord say: Just as my anger dripped on the inhabitants of Ierousalem, so my anger will drip on you, when you go into Egypt. And you shall become untrodden and be in subjection and become a curse and a reproach, and you shall see this place no more. This is what the Lord has spoken to you who remain of Iouda: Do not enter into Egypt.23 Jeremiah’s warnings were ignored. The people under the leadership of Azariah son of Hoshaiah and Johanan son of Kareah settled in Egypt. Jeremiah himself is carried off, against his will, to Egypt and so is Baruch. In the name of the Lord Jeremiah warns: I will visit upon those who are settled in Egypt, as I have visited upon Ierousalem, with sword and with famine, and none of those remaining of Iouda who sojourn in the land of Egypt shall be saved to return to the land of Iouda, there to which they hope in their souls to return; they shall not go back, except as escapees.24 Egypt is a one way ticket in the wrong direction. Jeremiah’s oracle against the Egyptians,25 part of a lengthy collection of oracles against the nations, pictures Egypt as a land doomed for destruction by the Babylonians: “A day of ruin has come upon them, and a time for their punishment.”26 23  Jer (LXX) 49:15–19. 24  Jer (LXX) 51:13–14. 25  In the Masoretic text Jer 46:2–26, in the Septuagint Jer 26:2–25. 26  Jer (LXX) 26:21. According to the Masoretic text (Jer 46:26), one day Egypt will be restored and inhabited as in the days of old.

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Jeremiah’s depiction of Egypt cannot have been very appealing to Philo of Alexandria and can hardly have been a reason for Philo to appreciate the prophet. Now, Philo’s understanding of Egypt is certainly ambivalent. He repeatedly describes Egypt as a country to be left behind, though not in a literal, but in an allegorical and a philosophical sense. To Philo Egypt stands for a “bodily land,”27 and the exodus represents the migration of the soul from the body and its passions. As I argue elsewhere in more detail, it was exactly such a symbolic (instead of a literal) reading of the exodus that permitted Philo to neutralize the exodus, so to speak, and to stay in Egypt. Typically, when in his Life of Moses Philo reflects on the scene of the burning bush as reported in Exod 3, God does not tell Moses where to go. No destination is mentioned. Philo’s main concern is not Canaan, but Egypt.28 Jeremiah’s radical critique of Egypt could hardly have been inviting for Philo’s more nuanced understanding of Egypt. But we need to ask a more principal question. How much evidence is there for a Jewish veneration of Jeremiah in Egypt? As a matter of fact, very little. One text that has been mentioned repeatedly by scholars, and so by Sterling, as a fairly clear indication that Egyptian Jews venerated Jeremiah is chapter two of the Vitae Prophetarum (Lives of the Prophets). The text, written in Greek, is notoriously difficult to date (1st century ce?), locate (Palestine?), and place into a wider context. It seems clear that Vitae Prophetarum takes up traditions of different origins, Jewish and Christian.29 The chapter on Jeremiah in Vitae Prophetarum begins as follows: “Jeremiah was from Anathoth, and he died in Taphnes of Egypt, having been stoned by the people” (2.1). With the desig27  Philo, De Migratione Abrahami 151, 154 (σωματικὴ χώρα). On this cf. Sarah Pearce, The Land of the Body: Studies in Philo’s Representation of Egypt (WUNT 208; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2007). 28  Philo, Mos. 1.65–84. Cf. René Bloch, “Leaving Home: Philo of Alexandria on the Exodus,” in Israel’s Exodus in Transdisciplinary Perspective—Text, Archaeology, Culture, and Geoscience (ed. Thomas E. Levy et al.; Springer: 2015), 357–64. 29  Cf. the introductory remarks by Douglas R. A. Hare, “The Lives of the Prophets,” in Old Testament Pseudepigrapha (ed. James H. Charlesworth. Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday, 1983–1985), 2: 379–84. The translations below follow, with slight adjustments, the one by Hare. Cf. also Anna Maria Schwemer, Die Viten der großen Propheten Jesaja, Jeremia, Ezechiel und Daniel. Einleitung, Übersetzung und Kommentar (vol. 1 of Studien zu den frühjüdischen Prophetenlegenden Vitae Prophetarum; Texte und Studien zum antiken Judentum 49; Tübingen: Mohr-Siebeck, 1995), 159–237, eadem, Vitae Prophetarum (JSHRZ I/7; Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 1997), and—arguing for Christian origin of Vitae Prophetarum, David Satran, Biblical Prophets in Byzantine Palestine: Reassessing the Lives of the Prophets (Studia in Veteris Testamenti pseudepigrapha 11; Leiden: Brill, 1995).

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nation “the people” (λαός) who stoned Jeremiah to death, the author clearly refers to Israel.30 The text then continues: “He was buried in the environs of Pharaoh’s palace because the Egyptians held him in high esteem (ἐδόξασαν αὐτόν), having been benefitted through him” (2.2). Who are these Egyptians (οἱ Αἰγύπτιοι)? Certainly not Jews, but rather, as becomes obvious from what follows, pagans. They venerated Jeremiah because his prayers saved them from snakes and crocodiles (2.3). Thus the report on Jeremiah’s death in Vitae Prophetarum focuses on Israel’s sin (the Jews killed their own prophet), on the one hand, and the Egyptian reverence for Jeremiah on the other hand. One encounters a strikingly similar reading of Jeremiah’s end in the 11th century Midrash Aggada, compiled by Moshe Hadarshan. The midrash, surely taking up earlier traditions, is also familiar with the killing of Jeremiah by Jews and the veneration by Egyptians: The Holy One Blessed Be He reproved them through Jeremiah, may he rest in peace, whom the children of Israel stoned in Egypt. The Egyptians buried him, however, because they loved him )‫)מפני שהיו אוהבים אותו‬. He had prayed that the crocodiles of the Nile which were killing the Egyptians would disappear. Subsequently King Alexander disinterred his bones and buried them in Alexandria.31 The larger context of this midrash is God’s reproof of the Jews’ numerous rebellions against him. Five more prophets who were killed are listed. Like Vitae Prophetarum the midrash makes a clear distinction between the Jews who erred and the Egyptians (and Alexander the Great), who did justice to Jeremiah. Here too, the point is not to highlight Jewish veneration of Jeremiah. Rather, the midrash intends to show the sinful way Jews had treated their prophets: “How great were the evils they committed; and how greatly did they anger the Creator!”32 Alexander the Great’s transfer of Jeremiah’s bones to Alexandria is also mentioned in Vitae Prophetarum: 30  The biblical account does not mention the stoning of Jeremiah, but the motif may go back to Jer 43:8–10 (God tells Jeremiah to bury stones at the entrance to Pharaoh’s palace in Tahpanhes). According to 4 Bar. 9:21–32 Jeremiah was stoned in Jerusalem. On this and other traditions about Jeremiah’s death cf. Wolff, Jeremia, 89–95 and Louis Ginzberg, Legends of the Jews (2d. ed.; Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society 2003), 1082–84. 31   Midrash Aggada (Buber) on Num 30:15. Translation in Betsy Halpern Amaru, “The Killing of the Prophets: Unraveling a Midrash,” HUCA 54 (1983): 153–80 at 155. 32  Ibid., ‫וכמה רעות עשו וכמה לבורא הכעיסו‬.

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And we have heard from the children of Antigonus and Ptolemy, old men, that Alexander the Macedonian, after standing at the prophet’s grave and witnessing his mysteries, transferred his remains to Alexandria and placed them in a circle around (the city) with due honor; and the whole race of asps were kept from the land, and from the river likewise the crocodiles.33 The idea of Alexander protecting “his” city with the bones of a Jewish prophet is part of a series of ancient and medieval Jewish legends trying to connect Alexander the Great with the history and geography of the Jewish people. Jews imagined a close relationship with Alexander, both for the city of Jerusalem and the Jewish diaspora in Alexandria. The earliest source for this tradition is Josephus, who reports how Alexander met with the Jewish high priest in Jerusalem and how none other than Alexander settled the Jews (after having carefully looked at other options) in Alexandria.34 Late Antique (Talmud) and medieval ( Josippon, Jewish versions of the Alexander Romance) expanded the myth of a “Jewish” Alexander.35 If Jeremiah and Alexander were both buried in Alexandria, it must have been all too tempting for the original author of this story to connect the two. Jews made Alexander one of their own whenever possible. The reference to Alexander the Great in Vitae Prophetarum is certainly of Jewish origin. Here it is not the Egyptians (nor the Jews) who venerate Jeremiah; instead Alexander honors the prophet. Definitely Christian (at least in its final form) is a paragraph that connects Jeremiah with Jesus: This Jeremiah gave a sign to the priests of Egypt, that it was decreed that their idols would be shaken and collapse [through a savior, a child born of a virgin, in a manger]. Wherefore even to this day they revere a virgin giving birth and, placing an infant in a manger, they worship.36 33   Vitae Prophetarum 2.5. 34  Jos. Ant.11.329–332; C. Ap. 2.42–43. 35  Cf. René Bloch, “Alexandre le Grand et le judaïsme: La double stratégie d’auteurs juifs de l’antiquité et du Moyen Âge,” in Les voyages d’Alexandre au paradis: Orient et Occident, regards croisés (ed. Margaret Bridges and Catherine Gaullier-Bougassas; Turnhout: Brepols, 2013), 145–62. 36   Vitae Prophetarum 2.8–9. On the textual problems, cf. the discussion by Hare, The Lives of the Prophets, 387. Vitae Prophetarum 2.4 mentions “God’s faithful (πιστοὶ θεοῦ)” who “pray at the place (of his burial) to this very day.” The suggestion that the phrase πιστοὶ θεοῦ is a Jewish “Selbstbezeichnung,” as suggested by Schwemer, Vitae Prophetarum 573, seems unlikely. Schwemer refers to Philo’s use of πιστός, but Philo nowhere uses the term πιστοὶ θεοῦ, nor does any other Jewish-Hellenistic author.

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With regard to a supposed Jewish veneration of Jeremiah in Egypt, caution is thus appropriate. It is not evident that Egyptian Jews paid particular reverence to the prophet Jeremiah.37 Philo’s personal report on his discovery of Jeremiah in De Cherubim remains both powerful and marginal. If Philo felt that close to the prophet, it is striking that he ignores him in most of his work. As Sterling rightly mentions in his article, there could have been numerous points of contact between Jeremiah and Philo: the call narratives, the visions prior to their calls, and their shared reluctance to speak on behalf of God to the people.38 These are parallels Philo could have made use of in some of his exegetical arguments, e.g. in his Life of Moses or his Questions and Answers on Exodus. But he did not. Philo could also have appropriated Jeremiah to support his allegorical reading of Egypt as a synonym for desire and pleasure39 by complementing his reading of Gen 26:2 (“The Lord appeared to him (Isaac), and said, ‘Do not go down to Egypt’ ”) with a similar one in Jer (LXX) 49:19 (“This is what the Lord has spoken to you who remain of Iouda: ‘Do not enter into Egypt.’ ”). To conclude, it is unlikely that Jeremiah was of truly great importance to Philo. The biographical note in De Cherubim remains an isolated statement. Philo’s main interest is Moses and the Torah. Philo does show great interest in prophecy, but it is Moses who is by far the most significant prophet in his eyes.40 To Philo, Jeremiah remained a minor prophet. We can probably assume that Jeremiah was of less importance to Philo than he was to another great Jewish Diaspora author—Flavius Josephus. In the 37  Another passage mentioned by Sterling and others (Wolff, Jeremia,154) that supposedly indicates a Jewish veneration of Jeremiah in Egypt (or at least a particular importance of the prophet for the Egyptian Jews) is 2 Macc 2:4–8, the burial of the ark by Jeremiah at Mount Sinai. This passage clearly tries to connect Jeremiah with Moses (as does already the book of Jeremiah and then also Vitae Prophetarum 2.9–15), but there is no need to read it as a sign of Jewish-Egyptian sympathy for Jeremiah. 38  Cf. Sterling, in “Jeremiah as Mystagogue,” p. 423. 39  Philo, QG 4.177: “Egypt is to be translated as “oppressing” (Philo plays with the Hebrew word ‫ )צרר‬for nothing else so constrains and oppresses the mind as do desire for sensual pleasures and grief and fear. But to the perfected man (Isaac), who by nature enjoys the happiness of virtue, the sacred and divine word recommends all perfection and not to go down into the passions but to accept impassivity with joy, bidding (the passions) a fond farewell.” 40  Cf. Phil. Mos. 2.187–291 (Moses as prophet). On Philo’s own moments of inspiration cf. John R. Levison, “Philo’s Personal Experience and the Persistence of Prophecy,” in Prophets, Prophecy, and Prophetic Texts in Second Temple Judaism (ed. Michael H. Floyd and Robert D. Haak; LHB/OTS 427; New York: T&T Clark, 2006), 194–209.

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context of the Jewish-Roman war, Josephus presents himself as a kind of Jeremiah redivivus. Both Jeremiah and Josephus encouraged the Jews to surrender (to the Babylonians and the Romans, respectively) and live: “Bring your necks under the yoke of the king of Babylon, and serve him and his people, and live,” Jeremiah warns.41 Josephus adopts this stance: in one of his speeches to the Jewish rebels, he explicitly refers to the “prophecies of Jeremiah” and reminds the rebels that “Jeremiah loudly proclaimed that they (Zedekiah and his subjects) were hateful to God for their transgressions against Him, and would be taken captive unless they surrendered the city, neither the king nor the people put him to death.”42 Both Jeremiah and Josephus were accused of treason, and both were treated well by the conquerors of Jerusalem.43 For Josephus, Jeremiah was a helpful reference for a Jewish strategy and policy of survival.44 In the end, then, and in spite of what Philo says in De Cherubim 49, the prophet Jeremiah was not often on his radar. The passage does not really change the general impression that the biblical prophets, with the exception of Moses, were of minor importance for Philo’s exegetical and philosophical work. The trio of Jeremiah, Moses, and Philo assuredly had the potential of being an interesting triumvirate. But that potential comes to life only very briefly in De Cherubim 49, where Jeremiah, Moses, and Philo for a brief moment are members of the same “mystical” school.

41  Jer 27:12. 42  Jos. B.J. 5.392 (transl. LCL). 43  Shaye J. Cohen, “Josephus, Jeremiah, and Polybius,” in The Significance of Yavneh and Other Essays in Jewish Hellenism (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2010), 105–20 esp. 106. 44  Cf. Steven Weitzman, Surviving Sacrilege: Cultural Persistence in Jewish Antiquity (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2005), 6.

Chapter 38

Jeremiah as Hierophant: Jeremiah in Philo of Alexandria. A Response to Gregory E. Sterling Franz Tóth When it comes to the reception of the book of Jeremiah in Philo of Alexandria, it seems that there is little to be said. There are only three passages where Philo noticeably quotes from the book of Jeremiah (Fug. 197 = Jer 2:13; Cher. 49 = Jer 3:4; Conf. 44 = Jer 15:10).1 These few references are incommensurate with the numerous citations from the Pentateuch to which Philo normally refers.2 At least, the prophet Jeremiah is named once in the key passage 1  Cf. Naomi G. Cohen, Philo’s Scriptures: Citations from the Prophets and Writings. Evidence for a Haftarah Cycle in Second Temple Judaism (JSHSup 123; Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2007), esp. 64–65. In Jean Allenbach et al., eds., Biblia Patristica. Supplement: Philo d’Alexandrie (Paris: Centre national de la recherche scientifique, 1982), 89, 18 passages are indicated containing citations or allusions to the book of Jeremiah. Gregory E. Sterling refers to this count in his article in the present volume; cf. also Gregory E. Sterling, “The Interpreter of Moses: Philo of Alexandria and the Biblical Text,” in A Companion to Biblical Interpretation in Early Judaism (ed. Matthias Henze; Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 2012), 415–35, esp. 425; and idem, “When the Beginning is the End: The Place of Genesis in the Commentaries of Philo,” in The Book of Genesis: Composition, Reception, and Interpretation (eds. Craig A. Evans, Joel N. Lohr, and David L. Petersen; VTSup 152; Leiden: Brill, 2012), 427–46, esp. 437–38. Besides the explicit citations from the book of Jeremiah mentioned above, other references referred to by Jean Allenbach et al. are of no consequence if one looks at them more closely. In Cher. 49, Jeremiah is mentioned by name and called a prophet. This is reminiscent of Jer 3:1–3 and is factually linked to the following citation of Jer 3:4. The two passages mentioned by Jean Allenbach et al. in Fug. 199 and 201 refer back to the initial citation of Jer 2:13 in Fug. 197. Jer 2:27 or Jer 3 comes to mind only difficultly in Decal. 8. The two-fold allusion to Jer 3:4 in Cher. 51 and 52 also refer back to the initial citation in Cher. 49. The supposed allusions to Jer 9:25 in Spec. 1.304; Jer 10:12 in Fug. 109; Jer 16:20 in Decal. 8; Jer 31:9 in Conf. 63; Jer 34:14 in Spec. 2.79 and Jer 34:14 in Spec. 2.84 are difficult or not worth mentioning. Moreover, Cohen, Philo’s Scriptures, 65, came across a plausible allusion to Jer 2:3 in Spec. 4.180 which Jean Allenbach et al. had not mentioned before. Taken as a whole, the number of references to the book of Jeremiah can be reduced to three marked citations (Jer 2:13; 3:4; 15:10) and two identifiable allusions to Jer 1:1–3 and 2:3, i.e., to five intertextual references. 2  Cf. Sterling, “The Interpreter of Moses,” 424–25: “Even a cursory glance . . . indicates the extent of Philo’s concentration on the Pentateuch. He cited or alluded to the Pentateuch 8,215 times.

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Cher. 49 where he is linked to Moses. Gregory E. Sterling is right to ask in his article in this volume why Jeremiah is named and brought out in this passage. Sterling suggests that the connection between Moses and Jeremiah is an analogy between the “greater mysteries” (i.e., Moses) and the “lesser mysteries” (i.e., Jeremiah). This connection is borrowed from mystery language (which is actually found in Cher. 49). According to Sterling, Moses and Jeremiah are identified as mystagogues and, though related to each other, are presented in a hierarchy. Jeremiah is hence linked to Moses such as no other writing prophet. This raises the question of why Philo highlights this particular relationship. According to Sterling, Philo’s method of citation provides the beginnings of an answer. If the writing prophets are believed to be the disciples of Moses, then their prophecies can be referred back to the Pentateuch. In other words, “The references elevate the status of the prophetic scrolls.” In addition, Sterling calls attention to tradition-historical and local-historical traditions which emphasize the figure of Jeremiah precisely in the Alexandrian diaspora and link it to ideas about Moses. Philo draws on these traditions in which Jeremiah plays a prominent role. At the same time, there is the hierarchical connection between Moses, who is the lawgiver and representative of the “greater mysteries,” and Jeremiah, who is the prophet for Egypt and the advocate of the “lesser mysteries.” Although Sterling highlights Cher. 49 in a notable way, emphasizes the special role of the treatise of De cherubim, and commences his analyses here, a deeper analysis of this important oeuvre remains undone. Sterling rightly observes the important role of elements connected to mystery language, which occur with striking frequency in De cherubim. A further elaboration of this topic, however, is lacking. Moreover, Sterling does not tackle the question regarding the rhetorical and argumentative scheme of the text, which could shed light on the questions raised above. In the following article, an analysis of the book De cherubim is presented that focuses particularly on its rhetorical structure of argumentation and its metaphorical mystery terminology, seeking the meaning of the reference to the prophet Jeremiah and his book against this backdrop.

In contrast, he cited or alluded to the remainder of the books that we recognize as scripture 204 times plus 43 citations or allusions to Deuterocanonical works. This means that he cited or alluded to the Pentateuch over forty times more frequently than other books. If we restrict our analysis to citations, we find that of the 1,161 citations of the biblical text in Philo, only forty-one or 3.5 percent are from outside the Pentateuch.”

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De Cherubim in the Context of the Complete Works of Philo

For a proper analysis of the individual works of Philo, the arrangement of the series in groups, series composing the Corpus Philonicum, have to be taken into account.3 De cherubim belongs to the series of the Allegorical Commentary which presupposes a highly educated circle of recipients: De cherubim is geared for the Jewish intellectual elite who are very familiar with the Pentateuch and with the allegorical instruments of interpretation. They are therefore prepared to dive deeper into the secrets of biblical-philosophical truths.

3   Cf. in this respect the central thesis of Martina Böhm, Rezeption und Funktion der Vätererzählungen bei Philo von Alexandria . Zum Zusammenhang von Kontext, Hermeneutik und Exegese im frühen Judentum (BZNW 128; Berlin: de Gruyter 2005), 409. Even though Philo did not give an internal classification to his works and notwithstanding that the circumstances of the origin of the individual books remain largely unclear, his writings of interpretation can be divided into three big series. Each respective series represents a completely unique literary genre and can be more or less attributed to the overall genre of commentary. They have different circles of addressees in view. Cf. the overview in Sterling, “The Interpreter of Moses,” 416–24; Böhm, Rezeption, 24–28. (1) The so-called Questions and Answers on Genesis and Exodus belong to the first group of writings. As far as the circle of addressees is concerned, Sterling, “The Interpreter of Moses,” 418, notes: “The character of a commentary that offers brief responses and lists options in those responses suggests that it was for beginning students, perhaps students in a school Philo operated. The questions and answers would have given them an orientation to the biblical text.” (2) The second series of writings, the Exposition of the Law, contains fifteen treatises, twelve of which have been preserved: Moses 1 and 2; Creation; Abraham; Joseph; Decalogue; Spec. Laws 1, 2, 3, 4; Virtues; Rewards (Isaac; Jacob; and Passions have been lost). As far as the circle of addressees of this series of writings is concerned, Sterling, “The Interpreter of Moses,” 424, summarizes: “ . . . it is likely that Philo was reaching out to a wider audience, probably the entire Jewish community or perhaps any interested reader.” (3) The last and most comprehensive group of writings is the Allegorical Commentary with 19 individual writings in total: Alleg. Interp. 1 (from Alleg. Interp. 1–2), 3; Cherubim, Sacrifices, Worse, Posterity, Giants, and Unchangeable (originally one treatise but now two), Agriculture, Planting, Drunkenness 1; Sobriety, Confusion, Migration, Heir, Prelim. Studies, Flight, Names, Dreams 2 and 3 (= Dreams 1 and 2). The Allegorical Commentary forms a unity and contains the more or less continuous commenting of Gen 2:1–17:22. If one adds a further fragment, On God (De Deo), the commenting would be prolonged until Gen 18:2. The Allegorical Commentary requires a high level of education on the part of the addressees, like Sterling, “The Interpreter of Moses,” 421, notes: “The complex nature of the exegesis in the Allegorical Commentary and its focus on the figurative or allegorical interpretation of the text suggest that it may have been intended for advanced students in Philo’s school or other Jewish exegetes.” Likewise Böhm, Rezeption, 318–22.

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The detailed explanations on selected passages from Gen 2–17LXX, which precede the explanatory treatise as lemmata, are characteristic for the Allegorical Commentary and hence also for the treatise of De cherubim. These basic lemmata are also called “primary exegesis.” Philo interprets the basic lemma, partly lexeme-by-lexeme, partly phrase-by-phrase, according to the order given by the primary text. Philo, however, does not aim at an exhaustive explication of all the lexemes of a lemma. The lemma or its division determines the macrostructure of the individual treatises. According to the lexemes of the primary text, which are looked at for interpretation, the macrostructure is subdivided into a corresponding number of subsections. In these commenting sections, Philo can proceed to the “secondary exegesis.” In the “secondary exegesis,” Philo’s aim is to explain words or themes imposed by the main theme, and he does so by means of other texts from the Pentateuch or other writings of the Tanakh.4 These explanations compose the microstructure of the corresponding allegorical treatise in which Philo can draw on numerous texts, mainly from the Pentateuch, in order to arrive at a deeper meaning or at a further clarification of a primary text through their “secondary exegesis.”5 This exegetical procedure presupposes an impressive knowledge of the scriptures both by the author and by the readers.6 According to David T. Runia, a detailed “exegetical procedure,” which is to be distinguished from “exegetical techniques,”7 contains the following elements 4  Cf. David. T. Runia, “The Structure of Philo’s Allegorical Treatises,” in Exegesis and Philosophy. Studies on Philo of Alexandria (ed. David. T. Runia; Collected Studies Series 332; Variorum: Hampshire 1990), 209–56, esp. 238: “One can thus speak of primary exegesis, which concentrates on direct exegesis of the main biblical lemma, and of secondary exegesis, which gives exegesis of subordinate biblical lemmata to the extent the exegete deems fit for the full understanding of the main biblical text (to which, sooner or later, he always returns).” 5  Cf. Böhm, Rezeption, 240. 6  Cf. Böhm, Rezeption, 241: “Die Sekundärexegesen bauen also auf einer äußert detaillierten Kenntnis des gesamten Pentateuchs auf. Innerhalb der durch die Sekundärexegesen so komplex erscheinenden Mikrostrukturen erschließt Philo seinen Adressaten nun den Pentateuch tatsächlich als ein nahezu unendlich verzweigtes, bewundernswert tiefsinniges Lehrgerüst mosaischer Philosophie. Zwischen seinen Streben bewegt sich Philo in nahezu artistischer Weise und kann dabei offenbar auch erwarten, dass ihm seine intendierten Adressaten mühelos folgen können.” 7  As far as exegetical technique is concerned, see David T. Runia, “Further Observations on the Structure of Philo’s Allegorical Treatises,” in Exegesis and Philosophy. Studies on Philo of Alexandria (ed. David T. Runia; Collected Studies Series 332; Variorum: Hampshire 1990), 105–138, esp. 123: “Exegetical techniques, on the other hand, have a more direct relation to the contents of the biblical text. Their task is to focus the attention of the reader on one particular aspect of the lemma, which, once it is understood, leads to a better understanding of the

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(not necessarily always all the elements of the procedure are found in one treatise, of course):8 (a) introduction (or transition from preceding chapter); (b) citation of main biblical lemma; (c) initial observation (often quaestio or objection); (d) background information (necessary for the allegory); (e) detailed allegorical explanation; (f) example / comparison / illustration / contrast; (g) allegorical application to the soul (often “diatribe”); (h) proof or witness; (i) conclusion or return to the main biblical lemma. Runia consciously differentiates between the initial observation in (c) and the detailed allegorical explanation in (e), “because it appears that Philo likes first to ‘break open’ the text by means of an initial observation (i.e., an ἀπορία, objection, distinction etc.), before proceeding to a more detailed explanation in terms of his exegetical system.”9 It is striking that “secondary exegesis” is frequently seen in (f) and (h), less in (e).10 As far as the arrangement and structuring of the allegorical treatises is concerned, the distinction between primary and secondary exegesis is decisive.11 The primary texts play an important role here. The secondary texts are of equal importance to the overall structure and overall statement of a treatise.12 The citation of Jeremiah in De cherubim, this can be already noted, belongs to the category of secondary exegesis. The exact argumentative, exegetical, and theological significance of this citation of Jeremiah has, of course, still to be delineated in detail. The argumentative rhetorical structure of Philo’s treatises has to be taken into consideration as complementary to the structural characteristics of an exegetical procedure suggested by David T. Runia. Manuel Alexandre, Jr. has carried out a comprehensive study on the rhetorical argumentation in Philo and looked at the argumentative rigor of Philo’s interpretation and line of argument. lemma as a whole . . . They are, therefore, especially prominent in procedure (c), the ‘breaking open’ of the biblical text. Examples of such techniques are: report of an objection (Deus 21); making a distinction (Deus 86) or establishing a contrast (Gig. 1); making a grammatical observation (Deus 141); outline of a diaeresis (Gig. 60); laudatio of the lawgiver (Gig. 58) etc.” 8  So according to Runia, “Further Observations,” 122–23. 9  Runia, “Further Observations,” 123. 10  Runia, “Further Observations,” 123. 11  So Runia, “The Structure,” 239: “If it is true that the structure of the allegorical treatises consists of both primary and secondary exegesis, then the manner in which Philo links together main and subordinate biblical lemmata (and the one subordinate lemma with the next) is going to give us an important insight into the mechanics of his structures.” 12  Cf. Runia, “Further Observations,” 124: “The main biblical text, from which the exegesis proceeds and to which it returns, is dominant. But a number of the secondary biblical texts (not all) are given a role that is hardly less important than that of the main text.”

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He has referred to numerous parallels with ancient rhetorical guiding principles and textbooks.13 In order to analyze De cherubim rhetorically, Alexandre notably draws on the rhetorical figurations which are compiled in the Rhetorica ad Herennium14 and in Cicero.15 As far as the argumentative structure of De cherubim is concerned, the discourses on the buildup and structure of an argument in the Rhetorica ad Herennium are particularly important here.16 According to the Rhetorica ad Herennium, an exhaustive argumentation contains five aspects: (1) propositio (the Proposition), (2) ratio (the Reason), (3) confirmatio (the proof of Reason), (4) exornatio (the Embellishment), and (5) complexio 13  Manuel Alexandre, Jr., Rhetorical Argumentation in Philo of Alexandria (SPhilo Mongraphs 2/BJS 322; Atlanta, Ga.: Scholars Press, 1999), 107–250. 14  Text and translation in (Cicero), Ad C. Herennium (Rhetorica ad Herennium) (trans. H. Caplan, LCL; Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1977); Rhetorica ad Herennium, lateinisch-deutsch (trans. T. Nüßlein; Samlung Tusculum; Düssseldorf: Artemis & Winkler, 1998). The Rhetorica ad Herennium is a textbook which was written by an unknown author in the first century BC. Like a compendium, it first gives a theoretical overview of the subject of rhetoric in a comprehensive and complete way. It was written for the purpose of study and presents a synthesis of the various rhetorical tendencies that had developed until the time it was written. 15  So esp. the following works: Cicero, De Inventione, De Optimo Genere Oratorum, Topica (trans. H.M. Hubbel; LCL; Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1976); idem, De Oratore, 2 vols. Vol. I: De Oratore I e II (trans. E.W. Sutton and H. Rackham; LCL; Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1942); Vol. II: De Oratore III, De Fato, Paradoxa Stoicorum, De Partitione Oratoria (trans. H. Rackham; LCL; Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1942). 16  Manuel Alexandre tries to provide proof that the rhetorical structure of Cicero’s ratiocination guides the first part of De cherubim 1–10 (Alexandre, Rhetorical Argumentation, 213–215). Ratiocinatio is a form of deductive argumentation pattern, similar to the epichirema (cf. Quintilian), which is composed of five elements: propositio, propositionis approbatio, assumptio, assumptionis approbatio, and complexio, cf. Alexandre, Rhetorical Argumentation, 64). According to Alexandre (p. 215–18), however, the second part of De cherubim 40–52 would be structured in keeping with the Rhetorica ad Herenniums as far as the argumentation pattern is concerned. According to the Rhetorica ad Herennium a discussion (the so-called tractatio) of a concrete topic or issue comprises seven parts, cf. Rhetorica ad Herennium IV, 56. The tractatio contains the following elements: res, ratio, pronuntiatio, contrarium, simile, exemplum, conclusio. Nevertheless, the tractatiostructure falls short of the complex line of argument in De cherubim 40–52. Alexandre is not able to put the comprehensive part of Cher. 49–51 in this narrow figuration. The application of Cicero’s ratiocinatio to De cherubim 1–10, on the other side, does not take into consideration the initial philological remarks of Cher. 1. This is why I suggest another figuration of argumentation for De cherubim 1–10 and 40–52 which is valid for both parts of the treatise.

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(the Résumé).17 It is not always necessary for all aspects of an argumentation to be present.18 There are a number of stylistic devices in the exornatio (Embellishment), a central element of the extended argumentation, that help develop and define the argumentation more precisely. Among the most important stylistic devices of the exornatio are, inter alia,19 simile (simile),20 exemplum (example),21 amplificatio (comparison)22 and contrarium (contrast).23 Besides considering the exegetical procedure and the argumentative structure of Philo’s treatises, the respective level of interpretation has to be taken into account as far as content is concerned. The distinction between two levels of interpretation is fundamental for Philo’s procedure of interpretation: the actual historical literal meaning on the one hand and the allegorical meaning on the other hand. Ethical implications come into play on both levels. Already on the level of literal meaning, the historical figures have a paradigmatic or model-like function, the patriarchs in particular (insofar as their lives exemplarily illustrate the cosmic laws laid down in the creation of the world). These laws are codified in the laws of Moses.24 According to Philo, the basic structure of the Pentateuch is factually composed of three main sections: the creation 17  Cf. Rhetorica ad Herennium II, 28 (trans. H. Caplan, LCL): “The most complete and perfect argument, then, is that which is comprised of five parts: the Proposition, the Reason, the Proof of the Reason, the Embellishment, and the Résumé. Through the Proposition we set forth summarily what we intend to prove. The Reason, by means of a brief explanation subjoined, sets forth the causal basis for the Proposition, establishing the truth of what we are urging. The Proof of the Reason corroborates, by means of additional arguments, the briefly presented Reason. Embellishment we use in order to adorn and enrich the argument, after the Proof has been established. The Resume is a brief conclusion, drawing together the parts of the argument.” 18   Rhetorica ad Herennium II, 30, the summary or the embellishment, for example, can be dropped. 19  Cf. the Summarium in Rhetorica ad Herennium II, 46: “Since Embellishment consists of similes, examples, amplifications, previous judgements, and the other means which serve to expand and enrich the argument, let us consider the faults which attach to these.” Numerous and various embellishments are exhaustively dealt with in IV, 18ff. 20  Cf. Rhetorica ad Herennium IV, 59. 21  Cf. Rhetorica ad Herennium IV, 62 22  Cf. Rhetorica ad Herennium II, 47–49; IV, 34. 23  Cf. Rhetorica ad Herennium IV, 25. 24  So Böhm, Rezeption, 72: “Philo kann die Patriarchenzeit auf diese Weise mit der geschriebenen mosaischen Gesetzgebung in eine inhaltliche, nicht nur zeitlich gefasste Beziehung bringen. Mit diesem als Modell verstandenen Geschichtsverständnis gelingt es Philo zusätzlich jedoch, die Zeit der Patriarchengeneration schon auf der Literalsinnebene mit einer Art zeitlosen Gültigkeit zu verstehen. . . . ‘Heil’ hat sich nach Philo quasi in Modellen

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of the world, the historical part (stories of the patriarchs) and the giving of the law.25 On this level of literal meaning, Philo can insert philological or specifically historical observations that are often already integrated in view of the following allegorical interpretation.26 Besides the actual historical literal meaning, the biblical text contains for Philo a deeper, timeless meaning which can be derived by allegorical interpretation that is, in a way, similar to the stoical exegesis of Homer.27 Allegory enables Philo to search for the eternal truths encoded in the Pentateuch. These eternal truths are important to the understanding of the cosmos, the noetic intelligible world, human existence, and human behavior. Even so, at the allegorical level of interpretation one still needs to distinguish between two dimensions: the “ethical” (ἠθική), i.e., universal or universally valid level, and the “physical” (φυσική), i.e., metaphysical-theological or noetic dimension level. Usually, Philo begins with philological-historical remarks and then proceeds to ethical and universal or universally valid comments before finally developing the allegorical level of the φυσική, i.e., the metaphysicaltheological level.28 vorbildlich gelebten Gottesgehorsams ereignet, an denen man sich im Verlangen eigenen Heils aktuell in Form des Pentateuchs orientieren kann.” 25  Cf. Böhm, Rezeption, 70–72, esp. 26  Hence Philo does not reject the actual-historical literal meaning in principle, cf. Alleg. Interp. 2:14. In other passages, however, the literal meaning is rejected as nonsense, so—in the same treatise—Alleg. Interp. 2,19. 27  Cf. the preliminary remark of Heraclitus, Homeric Problems, 1.1: “It is a weighty and damaging charge that heaven brings against Homer for his disrespect for the divine. If he meant nothing allegorically, he was impious through and through, and sacrilegious fables, loaded with blasphemous folly, run riot through both epics. And so, if one were to believe that it was all said in obedience to poetical tradition without any philosophical theory or underlying allegorical trope, Homer would be a Salmoneus or a Tantalus.” Furthermore, idem, 6.1: “So, since the trope of allegory is familiar to all other writers and known even to Homer, what should prevent us mending his alleged wrong notions about the gods by this kind of justification? My discussion will follow the order of the Homeric poems, and I shall use subtle learning to expound the allegorical statements about the gods in each book.” Text and translation: Heraclitus, Homeric Problems (trans. Donald A Russel and David Konstant; Writings from the Greco-Roman World, vol. 14; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2005), 3 and 13. 28  Cf. in detail John M. Dillon, “The Formal Structure of Philo’s Allegorical Exegesis,” in The Great Tradition. Further Studies in the Development of Platonism and Early Christianity (ed. John M. Dillon; Variorum Collected Studies Series: CS 599; Brookield, Vt.: Ashgate, 1997), 123–31, esp. 125. It is true that ethical discourses can already take place on the level of the literal meaning (in the sense of model-like, paradigmatic evaluations of historical

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In Philo’s ethical and universal reflections, the scriptures are a system of eternal truths regarding the relationship between God and human beings. The ancestors, who represent human beings on the actual historical level of meaning, human beings who lived in the past with model-like strengths and exemplary weaknesses before God, now become epitomes of psychological types (men) and epitomes of moral attitudes and virtues (women) on the second level of interpretation, epitomes that can be found everywhere and at every time among human beings—not least in the present—or epitomes that human beings can strive for.29 On the level of φυσική,30 the metaphysical-noetic or cosmic-theological level of meaning, the commentary aims at the invisible world of ideas, of the logos and of God as the original cosmic-noetic powers that brought forth the visible world. Broadly, three levels of interpretation are to be distinguished in Philo: (1) the literary-philological or literal level, (2) the ethical or universal-universally valid level, and (3) finally the metaphysical-noetic or theological level.31 Parallels with this exegetical procedure can be found, inter alia, in the ancient comments on Plato (e.g., the comprehensive comment of Proclus on the book Timaeus).32 narratives). At the same time, this kind of commenting is to be seen as a methodologically independent interpretation stage. 29  Cf. Böhm, Rezeption, 72–73. 30  Regarding the term “Physiologia” in Philo, cf. Steven Di Mattei, “Moses’ Physiologia and the Meaning and Use of Physikôs in Philo of Alexandria’s Exegetical Method,” Studia Philonica Annual 18 (2006): 3–32, esp. 31f.: “Through the examples of Moses, Abraham, and Jacob in particular, is that the ancient Hebrews themselves, like true philosophers, contemplated the cosmos. Why? Because philosophically speaking the contemplation of the cosmos, physiologia, is the sole means through which humanity arrives at the knowledge and thus worship of the Creator and First Cause of the cosmos. . . Just as a student in another philosophical school might study physiologia, not necessarily by sitting outside for long hours contemplating the heavens, but by studying a text which purports to be a contemplation of the cosmos, such as the Timaeus, likewise the Jews, through their reading and studying of Moses’ scripture are also studying physiologia, the goal of which is the recognition and worship of the cosmos’ Creator, the one and only God to which all philosophical schools adhere.” 31  So also Peder Borgen, Philo of Alexandria. An Exegete for His Time (NovTSup 86; Leiden: Brill 1997), 149: “The hermeneutical insights drawn from these observations are that Philo can in different ways interpret one and the same biblical text basically on two, sometimes on three levels, such as for example on the concrete and specific level, the level of the cosmic and general principles, and the level of the divine realm of the beyond.” 32  Cf. the discussion of the parallels in Dillon, “The Formal Structure,” 125f., esp. 126: “Proclus simply begins with philological or historical comments on the literal level of the text . . .

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Structure of De Cher 1–10 and 40–52

The treatise of De cherubim can now be analyzed against this backdrop. The treatise of De cherubim, which is a prime example of Philo’s exegetical procedure in the corpus of the Allegorical Commentary,33 comments on the primary texts of Gen 3:24LXX (God bans Adam from the garden) and Gen 4:1–2LXX (Adam knows Eve, birth of Cain and Abel). With their lexemes (see below: in italics) chosen for the commentary, these two lemmata provide the macrostructure of the treatise:

and then passes on to the allegorical interpretation, whether ethical or physical.” There is a fine example at the beginning of the Timaeus Commentary of Proclus. After having cited the lemma of Timaeus 17 a 1–3, Proclus first deals with the literary or philological perspective (Timaeus Commentary I.14.8–15.22). Then he comes to the ethical or moral level, stating: “Well all this is pleasant enough, and as much of this kind of thing that one would wish to take into consideration for the study of the language in front of us. But one should also bear in mind that the dialogue is Pythagorean, and one should make one’s interpretative comments in a manner that is appropriate to them. You could surely derive from it Pythagorean moral doctrines of the following kind.” (I.15.23–27) Translation according to Proclus, Commentary on Plato’s Timaeus, vol. 1, book 1: Proclus on the Socratic State and Atlantis (trans. Harold Tarrant; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007), 110. Proclus closes his ethical explanations with the following words: “This, and similar explanations, are ethical; but the following considerations belong to natural philosophy.” (I.16.20) Hence Proclus comes to the higher allegorical-metaphysical level of discourse here. Corresponding to Neoplatonist convention, Proclus still differentiates between a “physical” and a “theological” comment—a differentiation which is not important to Philo because the two levels coincide, cf. Dillon, “The Formal Structure,” 127. The differentiation between the allegorical levels in Philo is seen in Alleg. Interp. 1.12. After a citation of Gen 1:24, Philo explains: “How comes He, then, to form other wild beasts now, and not to be satisfied with those former ones? From the ethical point of view (ἠθικῶς) what we must say is this. In the realm of created things the class or kind of wickedness is abundant. It follows that in this the worst things are ever being produced. From the philosophical point of view (φυσικῶς) our answer must be, that on the former occasion, when engaged in the Work of the six days, He wrought the genera or kinds and the originals of the passions, whereas now He is fashioning the species as well.” Translation according to Philo, vol. I: Allegorical Interpretation on Genesis (trans. F. H. Colson and G. H. Whitaker; LCL; Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1981), 233. 33  Böhm, Rezeption, 241–44, choses the treatise De cherubim to illustrate Philo’s exegesis.

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Macrostructure of De cherubim34

Cher. 1–39

Cher. 1–10 Cher. 11–20 Cher. 21–25 Cher. 25–26 Cher. 27–39

Cher. 40–130

Lemma: Gen 3:24LXX And he cast forth (ἐξέβαλε) Adam and set [him] over against (ἀπέναντι) the Garden of Pleasure [and posted] the Cherubim (τὰ Χερουβίμ) and the sword of flame which turns every way (τὴν φλογίνην ῥομφαίαν τὴν στρεφομένην), to guard the way of the Tree of Life Comment on ἐξέβαλε / cast forth Comment on ἀπέναντι or ἀντικρύ / against Comment on Χερουβίμ / Cherubim Comment on τὴν φλογίνην ῥομφαίαν τὴν στρεφομένην / the sword of flame which turns every way A further comment on “Cherubim” and “the sword of flame which turns every way”

Lemma: Gen 4:1–2LXX And Adam knew (ἔγνω) his wife and she conceived and bare Cain (Κάιν), and he said, ‘I have gotten a man through God (ἐκτησάμην ἄνθρωπον διὰ τοῦ θεοῦ),’ and He added to this that she bore his brother Abel Cher. 40–52 Comment on ἔγνω / know Cher. 53–123 Comment on Κάιν / Cain Cher. 124–130 Comment on ἐκτησάμην ἄνθρωπον διὰ τοῦ θεοῦ / I have gotten a man through God

In the subsections of Cher. 1–39 and Cher. 40–130, Philo establishes a commentarial microstructure for the lexemes provided in italics. In these microstructures, the secondary texts and secondary exegeses are brought to bear. The parts of the treatise of De cherubim are now to be divided according to Runia’s structural elements of the exegetical procedure and drawing on the classical argumentation pattern according to Rhetorica ad Herennium. Here the first two comments following the basic lemmata, i.e., Cher. 1–10 (the ­comment on 34  Translation according to Philo, vol. II: On the Cherubim, the Flaming Sword, and Cain (trans. F. H. Colson and G. H. Whitaker; LCL; Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1994).

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ἐξέβαλε) and Cher. 40–52 (the comment on ἔγνω), are each looked at more closely. The comparative investigation of two parts of the treatise De cherubim will document the coherence of Philo’s lines of argument. It is in the comparison with the preceding explanations in Cher. 1–10 that the prominent position of Cher. 40–52 will than appear which, as far as argumentation and theology are concerned, goes beyond Cher. 1–10 being in a central place.

Microstructure of Cher. 1–10

Ch.

Exegetical Procedure

1

(b) lemma (c) initial observation

2

Argumentative Structure

(1) propositio

(d) information (2) ratio

(3) confirmatio

3

(e) allegorical explanation

(4) exornatio: (4.1) simile

Content

Citation of Gen 3:24LXX: “And he cast forth (ἐξέβαλε) Adam . . .” “Observe the word ‘cast forth’ instead of the earlier ‘sent forth’ (ib. 23). The words are not set down at random, but chosen with a knowledge of the things to which he applies them in their proper and exact sense.” → literary-philological analysis: while Gen 3:23LXX has ἐξαπέστειλεν (to send forth), Gen 3:24LXX has ἐξέβαλε (to cast forth). “He who is sent forth is not thereby prevented from returning. He who is cast forth by God is subject to eternal banishment.” ( . . . ) Development of the ratio through the confirmatio, introduced by the particle γάρ giving the reason . . . → introductory explanations of the topic on the universal/universally valid level of interpretation “And thus we see that Hagar or the lower education, whose sphere is the secular learning of the schools, while she twice departs from sovereign virtue in the person of Sarah, does once retrace her steps.” ( . . . )

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Exegetical Procedure

4–9a (f) example

9b

(g) allegorical application

10

(i) conclusion

Argumentative Structure

(4.2) exemplum

(5) complexio

Content

→ allegorical interpretation through illustration on the universal/universally valid level “Here we must speak of the reasons for this first flight and that second eternal banishment. On the first occasion Abraham and Sarah had not yet received their change of names, that is they had not yet been changed in character to the betterment of soul, but one was still Abram” ( . . . ) → development of the allegorical interpretation by means of further examples on the universal/universally valid level “It is well to listen to the voice of virtue, above all when she sets before us such a doctrine as this, because the most perfect types of being and the secondary acquirements are worlds apart, and wisdom has no kinship with the sophist’s culture.” → application of the allegorical interpretation “Why then do we wonder if God once for all banished (ἐκβέβληκεν) Adam, that is to say, the mind out of the district of the virtues, after he had once contracted folly” → concluding résumé in the form of a question containing the expression τί οὖν θαυμάζομεν and drawing on the key lexeme ἐξέβαλε

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Ch.

Exegetical Procedure

40a

(b) lemma

40b

41a

42

43–44

Argumentative Structure

Content

Citation of Gen 4:12LXX: “And Adam knew (ἔγνω) his wife . . .” (c) initial (1) propositio “The persons to whose virtue the observation lawgiver has testified, such as Abraham, Isaac, Jacob and Moses, and others of the same spirit, are not represented by him as knowing women.” → literary-philological level of interpretation: attention to lexical and semantic particularities (d) information (2) ratio “For since we hold that woman signifies in a figure sense-perception . . .” Development of the ratio through (3) confirmatio the confirmatio, introduced by the particle γάρ giving the reason . . . “For the helpmeets of these men are called women, but are in reality virtues.” → introductory explanations of the topic on the universal/universally valid level of interpretation (4) exornatio “. . . but when I purpose to speak of (4.1) contrarium them [virtues] let them who corrupt religion into superstition close their ears or depart.” (. . .) → exclusion of the uninitiated as a detailed development of allegorical interpretations (of secret doctrines) follows (e) allegorical (4.2) simile “Thus then must the sacred instruction explanation begin. Man and Woman, male and female of the human race, in the course of nature come together to

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Ch.

45–47

Exegetical Procedure

(f) example

48–52a (g) allegorical application

Argumentative Structure

Content

hold intercourse for the procreation of children. But virtues whose offspring are so many and so perfect may not have to do with mortal man, yet if they receive not seed of generation from another they will never of themselves conceive.” (. . .) → allegorical interpretation through illustration on the universal/universally valid level (4.3) exemplum “I will give as a warrant for my words one that none can dispute, Moses the holiest of men. For he shows us Sarah conceiving at the time when God visited her in her solitude.” → development of the allegorical interpretation by means of further examples on the universal/universally valid level (4.4) amplificatio “These thoughts, ye initiated, whose ears are purified, receive into your souls as holy mysteries indeed and babble not of them to any of the profane. (. . .) I myself was initiated under Moses the God-beloved into his greater mysteries, yet when I saw the prophet Jeremiah and knew him to be not only himself enlightened, but a worthy minister of the holy secrets, I was not slow to become his disciple.” (. . .) → enhancement of the argumentation through a comprehensive introduction of mystery terminology

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52b

Tóth Microstructure of Cher. 40–52 (cont.) Exegetical Procedure

(i) conclusion

Argumentative Structure

(5) complexio

Content

The mystery terminological use of metaphor and the introduction of the Hierophant Jeremiah lead over to the highest level of interpretation, the metaphysical-noetic level: discourse on the knowledge of God as house, father, and husband, furthermore on the world of ideas and on the idea of virginity. “Why then, soul of man, when thou shouldst live the virgin life in the house of God and cling to knowledge, dost thou stand aloof from them and embrace outward sense, which unmans and defiles thee?” → concluding résumé in the form of a question factually drawing on the initial lemma

The compact exegetical and argumentative structure of the treatise reveals that De cherubim is “Philo’s most perfect treatise.”35 The analog structures of both parts of the treatise, where each part follows directly the first key lexeme of the two lemmata of Gen 3:24LXX and Gen 4:1–2LXX, are oriented towards the guidelines of the textbook of Rhetorica ad Herennium as far as their argumentative style is concerned. This relationship can be also found in Philo’s works elsewhere.36 At the same time, the rhetorical argumentation pattern of 35  Alexandre, Rhetorical Argumentation, 213. In contrast to Alexandre, I think that both parts of the treatise of De cherubim go back to the same figuration of argumentation. 36  Cf. Alexandre, Rhetorical Argumentation, 140f. (regarding the rhetorical analysis of On Rewards and Punishments 36–48), 147–149 (regarding the rhetorical analysis of On the Sacrifices of Cain and Abel 35–40), 156 (regarding the rhetorical analysis of On Planting 165–171).

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De cherubim is complementary to the exegetical procedure which Philo likes to use again and again. Besides these rather formal characteristics, there also seems to be an analog structure present, in view of the different levels of interpretation, as far as content is concerned. The respective discourse commences with literary-philological remarks—even if they are short—before the line of argumentation proceeds to the universal/universally valid level of interpretation of the allegorical exegesis. The fundamental difference, however, lies in the further development of the allegorical levels of interpretation. While Cher. 1–10 only makes the universal/universally valid level of interpretation, i.e., the ethical level of interpretation, the subject of discussion, Cher. 40–52 also addresses the metaphysical-noetic or theological level of interpretation besides the universal/universally valid level of interpretation. This ultimate and highest allegorical dimension of interpretation is equivalent to the rhetorical literary device called amplificatio, i.e., the enhancement of an argument within the literary device of the exornatio, the embellishment or development of evidence. The amplificatio is denoted as allegorical application at the same time.37 Precisely here, in the amplificatio, at the argumentative peak of Cher. 40–52, mystery terms appear with striking frequency (bes. Cher. 48–49). The mystery terminology is already prepared in Cher. 42 and by using τελετή in Cher. 43 to introduce the discourse of simile and exemplum. It seems that the mystery terminology plays a special role, specifically for De cherubim, and is of interpretative relevance to a proper understanding of the citation of Jeremiah in this very context. 3

Cher. 40–52 in the Framework of Philo’s Mystery Terminology and Jeremiah as Hierophant

Christoph Riedweg, whose conclusions will be drawn on here, provides a comprehensive study on the mystery terminology in Philo (in comparison to Plato).38 Riedweg shows that Philo, especially in De cherubim, puts a mystery 37  It is true that Cher. 1–10 with Cher. 9b also contain the element of the allegorical application. However, there is only a short application of the preceding discourse without a noticeable enhancement of the argumentation here—the allegorical application remains on the universal/universally valid level; the metaphysical-noetic level does not come into view. 38   Cf. Christoph Riedweg, Mysterienterminologie bei Platon, Philon und Klemens von Alexandrien (Untersuchungen zur antiken Literatur und Geschichte 26; Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1987). Cf. also Naomi Cohen, “The Mystery Terminology in Philo,” in Philo und das

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framework over the allegorical interpretation of Cher. 40–52, which is inspired by the reception of Plato’s writings on the one hand and borrowed directly from a mystery ritual on the other hand.39 This strikingly dominant mystery terminology and the possession of secret knowledge implied here are metaphorically reinterpreted by Philo in the sense of an exclusive knowledge of a deeper allegorical meaning of Israel’s writings. A predominance of mystery terminology in Cher. 42 and 48–49 can be indeed observed. In Cher. 42, the topic of the “pregnancy and labor pains of virtue” (τὴν ἀρετῶν κύησιν καὶ ὠδῖνα), dealt with in the ratio und confirmatio (Cher. 41), is taken up again first and then declared as secret knowledge (τελετή). In Cher. 41, Philo has stated in a rather thetic way that the patriarchs’ wives Sara, Rebecca, Leah, and Zipporah—in contrast to Eve (cf. Cher. 40)—were no physical women: “For the helpmeets of these men are called women, but are in reality virtues” (Cher. 41). Hereafter Philo interrupts the first discourse of Cher. 42, wherein he allegorizes the patriarchs’ wives, in order to insert a mystery-πρόρρησις (i.e., a “call” to exclude the uninitiated) in the rhetorical style of the contrarium: [L]et them who corrupt religion into superstition (οἱ δεισιδαίμονες) close their ears or depart. For this is a divine mystery and its lesson is for the initiated who are worthy to receive the holiest secret (τελετὰς γὰρ ἀναδιδάσκομεν θείας τοὺς τελετῶν ἀξίους τῶν ἱερωτάτων μύστας), even those who in simplicity of heart practise the piety which is true and genuine, free from all tawdry ornament. The sacred revelation is not for those others who, under the spell of the deadly curse of vanity, have no other standards for measuring what is pure and holy but their barren words and phrases and their silly usages and ritual. (Cher. 42, trans. Colson/ Whitaker, LCL) The πρόρρησις-formula is a familiar element of the mystery cults indeed.40 The οἱ δεισιδαίμονες are supposed to be Philo’s fellow believers who do not accept or Neue Testament. Wechselseitige Wahrnehmungen (ed. Roland Deines and Karl-Wilhelm Niebur; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2004), 173–187. 39  Riedweg, Mysterienterminologie, 84. 40  Cf. e.g. Lucian, Alex. 38 “He (Alexander of Abonoteichus) established a celebration of mysteries (τελετήν), with torch-light ceremonies and priestly offices, which was to be held annually, for three days in succession, in perpetuity. On the first day, as at Athens, there was a proclamation (πρόρρησις), worded as follows: ‘If any atheist or Christian or Epicurean has come to spy upon the rites, let him be off, and let those who believe in the god perform the mysteries, under the blessing of Heaven.’ Then, at the very outset, there was an ‘expulsion,’ in which he took the lead, saying ‘Out with the Christians,’ and

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do not tolerate his daring allegorical interpretation of the scriptures because they support a different method of interpretation.41 In Cher. 42, the call to clog one’s ears or to go away is addressed to certain “external parties” who are not familiar or who do not agree with the deeper allegorical interpretation given the fact that Philo wants to teach the τελετὰς θείας (divine secret doctrines) only to worthy mystai (ἀξίους μύστας) hereafter.42 After these detailed incidental remarks in Cher. 42, Philo takes up the topic of Cher. 41 with the remark in Cher. 43 (“Thus then must the sacred instruction [τῆς τελετῆς] begin”). Philo offers now an unconventional reinterpretation of the Septuagint text by interpreting the patriarchs’ wives as representatives of virtues weeded to God or more precisely: The divinely caused pregnancy of these virtue-women is hence the content of the “divine consecrations.” Philo highlights this again in the conclusion (Cher. 48): “These thoughts, ye initiated, whose ears are purified, receive into your souls as holy mysteries (ἱερὰ μυστήρια) indeed and babble not of them to any of the profane.” In Cher. 42, mystery terminology precedes this allegorical interpretation as a hermeneutical interpretative signal and finishes it off in Cher. 48. Hence, mystery terminology and biblical exegesis are obviously closely linked. In this respect, the mystery terminology in Cher. 40–52 is one of Philo’s acclaimed metaphors that designates an allegorical interpretation of the scriptures.43 The allegory developed in Cher. 43–47, which is to be taken in the metaphorical sense of a revealed mystery, corresponds, in the world of the mysteries, to the paradosis (the introduction or the instruction in the mysteries, i.e., a kind of “transfer” of the initiation).44 As an act of preparation, the παράδοσις, the whole multitude chanted in response, ‘Out with the Epicureans!’ ” Translation Lucian, vol. 4 (trans. A. M. Harmon; LCL; London: William Heinemann, 1961), 225; cf. furthermore Sueton, Nero, 34,4. Cf. the discussion in Riedweg, Mysterienterminologie, 74f.84f. 41  The actual groups referred to here are supposed to have favored a conservative and purely literal interpretation of the scriptures; cf. also Philo’s criticism in Somn. 1,39; Sacr. 131; Spec. 3,134. Cf. in this respect Riedweg, Mysterienterminologie, 74 (n. 12). 42  Cf. the demand of Philo in Fug. 85 (trans. Colson/Whitaker; LCL): “Drive off, then, ye initiates and hierophants of holy mysteries, drive off the motley crowd, flotsam and jetsam, souls hardly capable of cleansing and purifying, carrying about wherever they go ears ever unclosed, and tongue ever unconfined, ready instruments of their miserable condition in their longing to hear all that heaven forbids us to hear, and to tell out such things as should never find utterance.” 43  Cf. Riedweg, Mysterienterminologie, 85–88; regarding other interpretations of the mystery terminology in Philo, cf. Riedweg, Mysterienterminologie, 92–96, in discussion with the speculative interpretations of J. Pascher and E. R. Goodenough. 44  Cf. Riedweg, Mysterienterminologie, 80.

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the instruction (μαθεῖν, διδάξαι), belongs to the so-called “lesser mysteries” (μικρὰ μυστήρια).45 It is known that the Eleusinian mysteries essentially consisted of two levels of initiation that were based on each other: the lesser and the greater mysteries. The first, lesser initiation usually took place near Athens at the river Illissos in the month of Anthesterion. The greater initiation, however, which had its climax in the epopteia, in the “most important mystical vision,” took place at Eleusis, a few kilometers from Athens, in the month of Boëdromion.46 As far as instruction in the secret doctrines of the lesser mysteries is concerned, the mystagogue (μυσταγωγός) played an important role.47 Before one was allowed to participate in the greater mysteries, one had to be initiated in the lesser mysteries, i.e., instructed in the secret doctrines. The idea of a gradual initiation is also familiar to Philo who applies this idea metaphorically to his allegorizing interpretation of the scriptures.48 The idea of instruction is, therefore, similar to the paradosis of a mystery cult. Contrary to the usually oral instruction in the Eleusinian mysteries, however, the instruction in De cherubim is in written form.49 Only this discourse in Cher. 43–47, which is to be understood as a paradosis, is followed by the appeal to the disciplina arcani in Cher. 48. The appeal comprises two different elements: On the one hand, no one is allowed to divulge 45  Cf. Riedweg, Mysterienterminologie, 9. 46  Cf. Plutarch, Demetr. 26 (trans. Bernadotte Perrin, LCL, 61): “the lesser rites were performed in the month Anthesterion, the great rites in Boëdromion; and the supreme rites (the ‘epoptica’) were celebrated after an interval of at least a year from the great rites.”  Cf. Karl Kerény, Die Mysterien von Eleusis (Zürich: Rhein-Verlag, 1962), 60–103; Jan N. Bremmer, Initiation into the Mysteries of the Ancient World (Münchener Vorlesungen zu Antike Welten 1; Berlin/Boston: Walter de Gruyter 2014), 2–16. 47  Cf. Bremmer, Initiation, 3: “Prospective initiates will have been introduced into the secret teachings of the Mysteries by so-called mystagogues, friends and acquaintances who were already initiated.” Cf. also Theodor Hopfner, “Mysterien (oriental.-hellenist.),” PW 16,2: 1315–50, esp. 1325f.: “Diese Belehrung konnte naturgemäß nur ein Volleingeweihter bzw. nur ein Priester erteilen, der als Einführer in die Mysterien-Weisheit geradezu μυσταγωγός, auch ἐξηγητής hieß und dem Neophyten wohl auch während der Einweihung selbst und während der Erringung immer höherer Grade beratend zur Seite stand. Dabei wurde die heilige Legende als höchstes Geheimnis wahrscheinlich nur mündlich weitergegeben und, um Entweihung und Mißbrauch vorzubeugen, nicht schriftlich niedergelegt.” 48  Cf. Philo, Sacr. 62: “And therefore they, who became partakers in the lesser before the greater mysteries judged wisely, as I think.” (οἱ πρὸ τῶν μεγάλων τούτων τὰ μικρὰ μυστήρια μυηθέντες). Cf. also Philo, Alleg. Interp. 1,100. 49  Riedweg, Mysterienterminologie, 73, comments: “diese ‘Einweihung’ muß über schriftliche Texte erfolgen—genauer: Die ‘Einweihung’ geschieht für Philon in irgendeiner Form der Auseinandersetzung mit dem Pentateuch und anderen Schriften des Alten Testaments.”

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information to uninitiated people. On the other hand, the mystai are called to keep a treasure.50 This motif of concealment is also known in the tradition of the mysteries.51 The disciplina arcani in Cher. 48ff. is insofar the rhetorical and argumentative climax of Cher. 40–50. One can indeed speak of an amplificatio of the argumentation where the allegorical exegesis reaches a new level of interpretation, a level which is still lacking in Cher. 1–10. Contrary to Cher. 42, the focus of Cher. 48 is no longer on the external parties. Those who have already been initiated are now directly addressed on the subject of their intellectual property in secret doctrines which is to be increased: But, if ye meet with anyone of the initiated (τῶν τετελεσμένων), press him closely, cling to him, lest knowing of some still newer secret (καινοτέραν τελετὴν) he hide it from you; stay not till you have learnt its full lesson. I myself was initiated (μυηθεὶς) under Moses the God-beloved into his greater mysteries (τὰ μεγάλα μυστήρια), yet when [subsequently]52 I saw the prophet Jeremiah and knew him to be not only himself enlightened (μύστης ἐστὶν), but a worthy minister of the holy secrets (ἱεροφάντης ἱκανός), I was not slow to become his disciple (φοιτῆσαι πρὸς αὐτόν). He out of his manifold inspiration gave forth an oracle (χρησμόν) spoken in the person of God to Virtue the all-peaceful. ‘Didst thou not call upon Me as thy house, thy father and the husband of thy virginity?’ (Jer. iii. 4) (Philo, Cher. 48–49).53 First, Philo encourages his initiated addressees to be open to new insights: If an initiated person appears with a new secret doctrine, one is to find out this new doctrine without fail. To meet with anyone of the initiated must mean according to Christoph Riedweg: “auf jemanden treffen, der eine andere, neue Allegorese der entsprechenden Schriftstelle kennt, den Symbolgehalt anders deutet, d.h. der eine ‘neuere Weihe kennt’.”54 This example of the commendable search for knowledge among the initiated paves Philo’s autobiographical 50  “. . . babble not of them to any of the profane. Rather as stewards guard the treasure in your own keeping, not where gold and silver, substances corruptible, are stored, but where lies that most beautiful of all possessions, the knowledge of the Cause and of virtue, and, besides these two, of the fruit which is engendered by them both.” (Philo, Cher. 48; trans. Colson/Whitaker, LCL). 51  Cf. Riedweg, Mysterienterminologie, 81–84. 52  Here αὖθις should be translated by “subsequently” because of the adverb; cf. the translation according to Philo, De cherubim, The Works of Philo Judaeus, the Contemporary of Josephus (trans. C. D. Yonge; 4 vols.; London: Henry G. Bohn, 1854–55). 53  Trans. Colson/Whitaker, LCL. 54  Riedweg, Mysterienterminologie, 88.

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way of knowledge: First, Philo was initiated in the greater mysteries when he was with Moses, God’s friend. Later on (αὖθις), he saw Jeremiah, the prophet, and realized that Jeremiah was not only a mystes but also a competent hierophant so that Philo did not hesitate to be his disciple (φοιτῆσαι). For his part, Jeremiah spoke in an oracle and in the name of God about virtue whereby the central topic of Cher. 41.43–47 is taken up again. Philo has already put into practice what he encourages the initiated to do: He was initiated in the greater secrets by Moses. However, he does not shrink from acknowledging Jeremiah as a hierophant later on and is willing to learn from him. This new doctrine, learned in the school of Jeremiah, is apparently the doctrine which Philo presents in Cher. 49–52, after the explicit citation of Jer 3:4.55 In this passage, Philo brings Moses and Jeremiah, mystery terminologically speaking, face to face without revealing a hierarchy! In the eyes of Philo, Jeremiah is not only a mystes but rather a hierophant (ἱεροφάντης), i.e., someone who (in contrast to the mystagogue) is elementarily linked to the greater mysteries and the epopteia.56 According to Hippolytos, Haer. V 6,40, one of the central tasks of the hierophant in the Eleusinian mysteries consisted in carrying out the greater and unspeakable mysteries with lots of fire in Eleusis during night. According to his name, the hierophant “revealed” the “holy objects” (ἱερά) in the ἐποπτεία. In keeping with the different traditions regarding the epopteia, night was changed into light because the Anaktoron, a little chamber in the center of the Telesterion (the Eleusinian central sanctuary),57 was opened. 55  After the citation of Jer 3:4LXX, Philo immediately begins with the secondary exegesis of the text of the Septuagint where the three attributes of God, “house,” “father,” and “husband” are now developed more closely. In Cher. 50–51, the relationship between God and virtue is explained in a more comprehensive way, whereby Cher. 51 explicitly refers back to the “claim of being a prophet” of Jer 3:4. In Cher. 52, the motif of the house of God is taken up again. 56  In the Eleusinian mysteries, the hierophant (ἱεροφάντης) was the highest priest, cf. Otto Kern, “Mysterien,” PW 16,2: 1210–1314, esp. 1231. His name is derived from revealing (φανείν) the divine and consecrated things (ἱερά). The noble family of the Eumolpides held the office of the hierophant. Eleusinian priests, who had a subordinate role, helped the hierophant, like the torchbearer, the daduchos, the hierokeryx, the herald of the sacred, that had to announce the holy silence; cf. also Walter Burkert, Ancient Mystery Cults (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1987), 37. However, the office of the mystagogos, the leader of the mysteries, was no high priestly office in Eleusis, so Kerényi, Mysterien von Eleusis, 86, with reference to Plutarch, Alc. 34,5f. 57  Cf. Bremmer, Inititation, 9: The telestêrion “was a square or rectangular building of about 27 by 25 metres, seating around 3000 people, and in its centre was a small chapel, the anaktoron/anaktora, about 3 by 12 metres, which had remainded in the same place

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Only the hierophant had access to it. In the bright light of the blazing fire, the hierophant revealed holy objects to those witnessing the epopteia, which were, inter alia, likely various divine images or statues.58 In Cher. 49, Philo asserts that the prophet Jeremiah is not only an initiated person but also a hierophant. This characterization is similar to a description of Moses in Gig. 54: Moses pitched his own tent outside the camp (Exod. xxxiii. 7) and the whole array of bodily things, that is, he set up his judgement where it should not be removed. Then only does he begin to worship God and entering the darkness, the invisible region, abides there while he learns the secrets of the most holy mysteries (εἰσελθὼν αὐτοῦ καταμένει τελούμενος τὰς ἱερωτάτας τελετάς). There he becomes not only one of the congregation of the initiated (γίνεται δὲ οὐ μόνον μύστης), but also the hierophant and teacher of divine rites (ἀλλὰ καὶ ἱεροφάντης ὀργίων καὶ διδάσκαλος θείων), which he will impart to those whose ears are purified (ἃ τοῖς ὦτα κεκαθαρμένοις ὑφηγήσεται).59 The expression “to pitch the tent outside the camp” taken from Ex 33:7LXX, an expression that Philo interprets allegorically in Gig. 54, is reinterpreted philosophically. Moses looks beyond the physical when he enters the “darkness” and the “invisible place”—this refers to the intelligible world accessible to the νοῦς as far as the thinking category of the Platonic school is concerned. In this “place,” Moses receives the “holy consecrations.”60 In the wake of this “initiation,” Moses not only becomes a mystes but also a hierophant of holy rites and a teacher of divine things (οὐ μόνον μύστης, ἀλλὰ καὶ ἱεροφάντης ὀργίων καὶ διδάσκαλος θείων). According to Christoph Riedweg’s comment, this means: despite successive reconstructions and innovations. This housed the sacred objects that were displayed at some point in the ritual.” 58  So the reconstruction of Riedweg, Mysterienterminologie, 61f., whereby it is assumed that “bei der Mysterienschau in Eleusis mit der Öffnung des Anaktorons plötzlich Statuen im hellen Glanz da standen oder vom Hierophanten vorgezeigt und zur Verehrung hingestellt wurden.” Similar also Bremmer, Initiation, 14f. 59  Transl. Colson/Whitaker, LCL. 60  Christoph Riedweg, Mysterienterminologie, 105, makes the following comment in this context: “An diesem ‘Ort’ bleibt er [Moses] und wird in die ‘heiligsten Weihen eingeweiht’. Dieser mysterienterminologische Ausdruck ist auf dem stark platonischen Hintergrund der Exegese zu sehen und entspricht—zwar leicht variiert, vom Gehalt her jedoch genau—der entsprechenden Metaphorik für die höchste metaphysische Erfahrung im Phaidros 249c7: τελέους ἀεὶ τελετάς τελούμενος.”

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Tóth

“Moses kommt an diesem ‘Ort’ zur richtigen Erkenntnis alles Heiligen und Gottgefälligen und wird insofern zum Mysten. In seiner Schriften reicht er diese höchste Einsicht weiter, wird also zum Hierophaten und Lehrer der ‘Orgia’, womit auch hier die allegorisch zu entschlüsselnde verborgene Wahrheit der Schrift bezeichnet ist.”61 In Somn. 1,164–65, Moses is implored in this very function as a hierophant and teacher: But even if we do close the eye of our soul and either will not take the trouble or have not the power to regain our sight, do thou thyself, Ο Sacred Guide (ἱεροφάντα), be our prompter and preside over our steps and never tire of anointing our eyes, until conducting us to the hidden light of hallowed words (ἕως ἐπὶ τὸ κεκρυμμένον ἱερῶν λόγων φέγγος ἡμᾶς μυσταγωγῶν) thou display to us the fast-locked lovelinesses invisible to the uninitiated (ἐπιδείξῃς τὰ κατάκλειστα καὶ ἀτελέστοις ἀόρατα κάλλη). Thee it beseems to do this; but all ye souls which have tasted divine loves, rising up as it were out of a deep sleep and dispelling the mist, hasten towards the sight to which all eyes are drawn (τὴν περίβλεπτον θέαν) put away the heavy-footed lingering of hesitation, that you may take in all that the Master of the contests has prepared in your behoof, for you to see and hear.62 Philo usually identifies Moses with ἱεροφάντης as the author of the Pentateuch.63 Here, in Somn. 1,164–65, the hierophant Moses is implored not to reveal the concealed beauties (i.e., the ἱερῶν λόγων) that cannot be seen by the uninitiated. Philo hereby expressed the wish to gain insight into the concealed and symbolic message of the scriptures which goes beyond the literal meaning.64 Besides Moses, only the prophet Jeremiah’s name is linked to the honorary title “hierophant” in all of Philo’s writings (Cher. 49). After having been initiated in the greater mysteries by the hierophant Moses in an exhaustive and 61  Riedweg, Mysterienterminologie, 105. 62  Trans. Colson/Whitaker, LCL. 63  So in Leg. 3,151.173; Sacr. 94; Post. 16.164.173; Gig. 54; Deus. 156; Migr. 14; Somn. 1,164; Somn. 2,3.29.109; Decal. 18; Spec. 1,41; Spec. 2,201; Spec. 4,177; Virt. 75.174.  In Mos. 2,40, the translators of the Septuagint are meant, in Spec. 3,135 the high priest of the Old Testament in general. In Fug. 85, Philo’s contemporaries and fellow believers with mystes and hierophants are addressed. Sobr. 20, however, is unimportant. 64  Cf. here the explanations in Riedweg, Mysterienterminologie, 97f. Like in Somn. 1,191, the term “uninitiated” (ἀτέλεστοι) denotes those who do not know the concealed truth of the scriptures which has to be arrived at allegorically.

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lengthy way, Philo realizes that, according to his autobiographical account, the prophet Jeremiah, who is another hierophant, also provides important “initiated” insights into the deeper meaning of the scriptures which is reached through allegorizing. Referring to Jer 3:4, Philo exemplarily provides a text which not only develops the initial topic of virtue and virginity mentioned in Cher. 41.43–47 but also leads to a special depth of knowledge of God’s being, similar to a greater initiation and epopteia, on the metaphysical-noetic level of interpretation. In the text of Jeremiah—in loose translation of the text of the Septuagint65—God is designated as “house,” “father,” and “husband” of virginity. Thereon, Philo provides a closer explanation of these terms in the form of a secondary exegesis and proceeds as follows: Thus he implies clearly that God is a house, the incorporeal dwellingplace (ἀσώματος χώρα) of incorporeal ideas (ἀσωμάτων ἰδεῶν), that He is the father of all things, for He begat them, and the husband of Wisdom, dropping the seed of happiness for the race of mortals into good and virgin soil (Cher. 49).66 The “house” allegorically stands for the intelligible world, the place of the world of ideas, where the pure soul ascends. The “father” refers to the Creator God. The “husband of wisdom,” however, denotes the marital bond between God and wisdom. The latter is presented as a virtuous virgin.67 In contrast to the natural act of procreation, the virgin wisdom continues to be “immaculate” and remains a virgin. This is possible because it is no longer a matter of biological-natural or visible categories. In fact, it is a matter of the metaphysicalnoetic and invisible world of ideas. Explicitly drawing on the citation of Jeremiah again, Philo notes:

65  The Septuagint (which significantly differs from the Hebrew text here) states in Jer 3:4: οὐχ ὡς οἶκόν με ἐκάλεσας καὶ πατέρα καὶ ἀρχηγὸν τῆς παρθενίας σου; (“Surely, you called me as house and father and chief of your virginity?”). However, Philo reads in Jer 3:4: οὐχ ὡς οἶκόν με ἐκάλεσας καὶ πατέρα καὶ ἄνδρα τῆς παρθενίας σου; (“Didst thou not call upon Me as thy house, thy father and the husband of thy virginity?”). Philo utilizes ἄνδρα instead of ἀρχηγόν. The term ἄνδρα is more useful for his thesis. This seems to be a deliberate change. 66  Trans. Colson/Whitaker, LCL. 67  In Leg. 2,49, the wisdom of God together with virtue is designated as the “mother of all things.”

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Tóth

Again even a virgin soul may perchance be dishonoured through the defilement of licentious passions. Therefore the oracle makes itself safe by speaking of God as the husband not of a virgin, for a virgin is liable to change and death, but of virginity, the idea which is unchangeable and eternal (παρθενίας, τῆς ἀεὶ κατὰ τὰ αὐτὰ καὶ ὡσαύτως ἐχούσης ἰδέας; Cher. 51).68 In contrast to the preceding deliberations on the virtues, which remained on the general-universal level, this discourse is now on the level of the intelligible world of ideas. The soul has to ascend to this heavenly “place,” not dissimilar to Platonic philosophy. This is why, in the closing complexio of his résumé, Philo warns not to look at the sensual any more because the virgin soul seeking knowledge is now in the “house of God,” i.e., the κόσμος νοητός (Cher. 52).69 In order to reach the highest level of discourse regarding the central topic of virtue and virginity, Philo draws on the citation of Jeremiah. According to Philo, already the spirit-filled prophet Jeremiah had knowledge of the κόσμος νοητός besides Moses and referred to it in Jer 3:4 in the context of the conjugal community between God and virtuous wisdom or virginity. The special mention of Jeremiah’s name is therefore determined by content, motivated by the line of argumentation and inspired by autobiography. It can be assumed that, after having studied the writings of Moses in detail, Philo turned to the book of Jeremiah, inter alia, where he found different texts which were beneficial to his allegorizing interpretation of the Pentateuch. The two other citations of Jeremiah are also highlighted for the highest metaphysical-noetic level of interpretation, similar to the discourse in Cher. 49–52.70 68  Trans. Colson/Whitaker, LCL. 69  For Philo, God is a τόπος and χώρα (Somn. 1,62f.). God is a placeless and transcendent space that englobes the totality without being grasped by anything. At the same time, this space is the space of ideas (Cher. 49), the κόσμος νοητός, which finally is divine reason where, primordially, the conceived world already exists as an idea (Opif. 20f.) and to which the mind of humans is directed. Cf. in this respect, inter alia, Reiner Schwindt, Das Weltbild des Epherserbriefes. Eine religionsgeschichtlich-exegetische Studie (WUNT 148; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2002), 325–50. 70  In Fug. 177–201, Philo discusses the lexeme “source” taken from the lemma Gen 16:17 and cites Jer 2:13 as proof for the “highest and best source,” i.e., the father of the universe. It is obvious that the metaphysical-noetic or theological level is in view here. In Conf. 44f., Jeremiah is characterized as the “leader of the prophetic choir” (προφητικοῦ θιασώτης χοροῦ) in the context of a citation from Jer 15:10. The choir stands for the virtues (Conf. 43). The choir also played an important role in the greater mysteries. Plato metaphorically updates this motif for the vision of the ideas, cf. Riedweg, Mysterienterminologie, 57f.,

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469

Résumé

De cherubim is—to summarize it—a tightly organized and theologically and philosophically well-designed treatise which demands high encyclopedic competences from the addressees. The key passage of Cher. 40–52 and Cher. 1–10 are made up of classical argumentative and rhetorical patterns. The peculiarity of Cher. 40–52, however, is seen in comparison with Cher. 1–10. In essence, Cher. 40–52 is influenced and structured by mystery terminology. At the same time, these semantic observations correspond to the analysis of the argumentative and rhetorical structure of the passage. From the point of view of mystery terminology, Cher. 40–52 develops a train of thought which is inspired by the Eleusinian mystery cults: The πρόρρησις-formula in Cher. 42 is first followed by the instruction in and introduction into the deeper allegorical meaning of the scriptures on the general-universal level of interpretation (Cher. 43–47) according to the lesser mysteries. Only then does Philo provide a discourse in the form of a rhetorical and content-related enhancement (amplificatio) on the metaphysical-noetic level of interpretation in the sense of the greater mysteries and the epopteia (Cher. 49–52) with the appeal to the discipline of the arcane (Cher. 48) and an autobiographical account (Cher. 49). Hence the mystery structure proves to be the underlying structure for Cher. 40–52, which has in view the epopteia and the vision of the ideas.71 At the peak of the argumentation, the citation of Jeremiah is fully highlighted. As far as the content is concerned, the special mention of the prophet Jeremiah’s name is therefore motivated by the argumentative pattern and mystery structure of De cherubim as well as by Philo’s personal biographical experience in studying the scriptures intensely.

who points to the connection with the vision of the mysteries for Phaidros in particular. According to Philo, Moses also dealt with songs for a choir. These songs raised him into the divine sphere, so Virt. 72–76. 71  The section Cher. 40–52, designed in keeping with the guideline of mystery terminology, is inspired by Plato’s Symposium that is structured similarly, cf. in detail Riedweg, Mysterienterminologie, 2–29. Symp. is apparently also to be read against the backdrop of the structure of the mysteries with their two parts, i.e., the lesser and the greater mysteries.

chapter 39

“I am the Man”: The Afterlife of a Biblical Verse in Second Temple Times James Kugel Sometimes the afterlife of a biblical verse can depart sharply from what was apparently its original sense; indeed, sometimes this new sense can double back and change forever the way readers think about the larger text to which it belongs, or change the character of its reputed author. In the following I would like to explore the formation of one important aspect of Jeremiah’s “image” in early post-biblical times that developed from a single verse in the Book of Lamentations, Lam 3:1, which begins: “I am the man who has known affliction . . .” The words seem quite straightforward, yet they have inspired all manner of interpretation in modern scholarship. The focus of the preceding two chapters, and sometimes the actual speaker quoted therein (1:9, 11, 15, etc.), has been a female figure called ‫בת ציון‬, Lady Zion, the emblem of the people of Judah. She is described in chapter 1 of Lamentations as a widow weeping bitterly; jeered by her enemies, she has no comforter. This female is likewise the focus of the second chapter: there she is still referred to as ‫( בת ציון‬as well as ‫ )בת ירושלם‬and is still the object of pity. But then suddenly in chapter 3 a new figure appears, identifying himself as a ‫גבר‬, a word with quite different associations. A biblical ‫ גבר‬is generally a young man in the prime of life, brimming with strength, as the verbal root g-b-r (“be strong, mighty”) itself suggests, particular via the noun from the same root, ‫גבורה‬, “strength” or “power.” The sudden appearance of this ‫ גבר‬in Lamentations 3 is therefore somewhat jarring; moreover, what is more, his full self-identification as a ‫“ גבר‬who has known affliction” seems almost an oxymoron. Why choose this word? Scholars have of course connected this act of self-identification itself with that found in Egyptian, Mesopotamian and Phoenician royal inscriptions, in which the mighty king starts off by saying “I am So-and-so”—and this is usually the opening salvo in an extended piece of self-glorification, to which “I am the ‫ גבר‬who has known affliction” hardly seems related. We might come a bit closer with Qohelet’s self-presentation, “I Qohelet was king in Jerusalem over Israel” (Eccl 1:12), which does not lead into boasting, but into an account of his

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discouraging search for wisdom. Still, this does little to explain the riddle of this person’s not being simply a man, an ‫ איש‬who has known affliction, but a youthful, manly ‫גבר‬. Recent commentators have therefore put forward various suggestions to explain the apparent oxymoron: the speaker is an anonymous “frustrated soldier,” who survived the siege of Jerusalem,1 or one of the Temple singers exiled to Babylon;2 or perhaps a known individual, such as Jehoiachin,3 Zedekiah,4 or the high priest Seraiah;5 or perhaps he is simply the “collective voice of the people,” or actually, Lady Zion sub specie hominis.6 None of these proposals seems particularly persuasive, indeed, the idea that the ‫ גבר‬is some sort of collective or personified being7 only heightens the mystery: why suddenly abandon the collective female ‫ בת ציון‬in favor of this male newcomer— and why make him a manly ‫“ גבר‬who has known affliction.” Jacob Klein presents a novel interpretation in his recent commentary on Lamentations.8 He points out that the equivalent of the word ‫ גבר‬in Akkadian is eṭlu(m). According to the Chicago Assyrian Dictionary, an eṭlu, like a ‫גבר‬, is usually a “young man,” “able-bodied,” vigorous and the like, while the noun eṭlūtu means “manliness,” “strength,” etc., very much like Hebrew ‫גבורה‬.9 There is, however, another, rather specialized use of eṭlu in Akkadian: it is sometimes used to designate the “righteous sufferer,” someone who, although righteous, is being punished for some sin, a circumstance that causes him to ask probing questions about the nature of divine justice. (Why the righteous sufferer should be specifically an eṭlu is unclear; perhaps questioning divine justice in time of suffering was felt to be more typical of the vigorous youth than the elderly sage,

1  W. F. Lanahan, “The Speaking Voice in the Book of Lamentations,” JBL 93 (1974), 41–49. 2  R. Albertz, Israel in Exile: the History and Literature of the Sixth Century BC (Atlanta, GA: SBL Publications, 2003), pp. 145–6, 151, 161–7. 3  N. Porteous, “Jerusalem-Zion; the Growth of a Symbol,” in A. Kuschke, Verbannung und Heimkehr FS Wilhelm Rudolph (Tübingen: Mohr, 1961). 4  Cited in M. Saebø, “Who Is ‘The Man’ in Lamentations?” in Graeme Auld, Understanding Poets and Prophets FS George Wishart Anderson (JSOT Suppl. 152) Sheffield: JSOT Press. 5  See 2 Kgs 25:18–21; Jer 52:24–27; G. Brunet, « La cinquième lamentation » VT 33 (1983) 149–70. 6  Among others: Ulrich Berges, Klagelieder (Freiburg: Herder, 2002), 183–85. 7  See e.g. D. Hillers, Lamentations (Anchor Bible) (New York: Doubleday, 1972) which presents the speaker as “Everyman,” 109. 8  J. Klein in M. Haran, gen’l ed., World of the Bible: the Five Scrolls (Heb.) (Tel Aviv: Davidzon-Itti, 1996), 138. 9  I. J. Gelb et al., The Assyrian Dictionary of the Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago, vol. 4 (Chicago: The Oriental Institute, 1958), 407–11.

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who knew better.)10 In any case, the tradition of the righteous sufferer is quite ancient, going back to the Sumerian composition entitled “Man and his God”;11 the Akkadian poem Ludlul bēl nēmeqi (“I will praise the lord of wisdom”)12 apparently belongs to the same genre, as does the “Babylonian Theodicy.”13 In these, the eṭlu bemoans his fate, just as the ‫ גבר‬does in Lamentations 3. Indeed, the fact that the “righteous sufferer” genre is quite distinct from another Mesopotamian genre, the “lament over a destroyed city” (such as the Sumerian “Lament over the City of Ur,” or the “Nippur Lament,” whose connection to the other chapters of Lamentations has long been recognized)14 might suggest that the generic affiliations of chapter 3 are somewhat different from those of the rest of the book. Ed Greenstein15 has suggested that the conventions of the “righteous sufferer” genre may likewise be responsible for a little noticed feature of Lamentations 3: on close examination, it seems to be written as a kind of dialogue, rather like the “Babylonian Theodicy”—save that here, the dialogue is internal, between the righteous sufferer and his own heart.16 Thus, the ‫ גבר‬begins his lament in verse 1 (“I am the man who has known affliction, under the rod of God’s wrath”) and continues lamenting his fate through verse 21. He describes his God as a “lurking bear, a lion in hiding,” and concludes this section, 10  Note in Lamentations 3 itself: “It is good for a man (‫ )גבר‬to bear a yoke in his youth; let him sit alone and be silent, for He has laid it upon him” (3:27–28). Cf. Qoh 7:10, “Do not say: ‘How is it that the former times were better than these?’ for you are not asking this out of wisdom.” 11  For a recent bibliography: http://etcsl.orinst.ox.ac.uk/section5/b524.htm/. Klein’s study, “Man and his God: a Wisdom Poem or a Cultic Lament,” (in P. Michalowski and Niek Feldhuis, Approaches to Sumerian Literature [Leiden: Brill, 2006], 123–44) discusses the question of its literary genre and possible cultic connection. Note that an Old Babylonian text similar in content to the Sumerian text was published by J. Nougayrol, “Une version ancienne du ‘Juste Souffrant,’ ” Revue biblique 59 (1952), 239–50 (referred to by Klein as the “Babylonian Man and his God”). 12  “Poem of the Righteous Sufferer with his God” in B. Foster, Before the Muses: Myths, Tales and Poetry of Ancient Mesopotamia (Bethesda, Maryland: CDL Press, 1995), 305–25. 13  W. G. Lambert, Babylonian Wisdom Literature (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 1996) (2nd ed.), 63–89; Foster, Before the Muses, 806–14. 14  First suggested by H. J. Kraus, Klagelieder (Biblischer Kommentar Altes Testament) (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1956). 15  To whom I owe heartfelt thanks in general for guiding me through this subject. 16  As various commentators have noticed: see H. Bezzel, “ ‘Man of Constant Sorrow’— Rereading Jeremiah in Lamentations 3,” in A. R. P. Diamond and L. Stulman, Jeremiah (Dis)placed: New Directions in Writing/Reading Jeremiah (London: T & T Clark, 2011) 253–65.

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I said, “My glory is gone, along with my hope in the Lord. To think back on my affliction and misery was wormwood and gall. O my soul! Remember them and bow down low.” (Lam 3:18–20)17 Just at this point, however, a somewhat different voice is heard: This is what I reply to my heart and therefore have hope: It is [thanks to] the Lord’s kindness that we have not come to an end, for His mercies never cease. They are made afresh every morning; great indeed is Your faithfulness. “The Lord is my portion,” I say in my soul, “that is why I still have hope.” The Lord is good to those who cry out to Him, to the soul who seeks Him out. (3:21–25) This more pious voice continues for seven more verses, but then the first speaker interrupts: To crush underfoot all those imprisoned in the land; To deny a man (‫ )גבר‬his rights, right under the Almighty’s nose; To pervert a person’s just claim—is it that “the Lord did not see?” (3:34–36) To which the second voice answers: Who is it who speaks and then it comes to pass? Is not the Lord in charge? Do not good and evil both come from the mouth of the Almighty? How can a person complain and live, a man (‫[ )גבר‬bemoan the punishment] for his sins? Let us search and examine our doings and turn back to the Lord. (3:37–40) And so it goes throughout chapter 3: the righteous sufferer debates within himself on the subject of divine justice. All this supports the logic of the speaker’s self-identification at the beginning of chapter 3. He is indeed the Hebrew incarnation of the ancient Mesopotamian tradition of the righteous sufferer, a sufferer now wrestling with the problem of good and evil in the wake of the Babylonian conquest. The chapter’s generic distinctness from the previous 17  All translations mine.

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two chapters (which do belong to the “lament over a city” genre) is announced even in its different structure: the previous chapters, and the one that follows, all consist of a single alphabetical acrostic, while Lamentations 3 is a triple acrostic, so that each verse is usually just a blunt, five- or six-word sentence. The disjunction could hardly be more explicit. 1

Authorship and Authority

With the passage of time, however, things once understood are understood no more. The generic affiliations of the five dirges that make up the biblical book of Lamentations must have been recognized at the time of their composition, at least by an educated elite; however, as decades turned to centuries, those connections were no longer evident, and the question with which we began— who is this suffering male figure who suddenly speaks in place of the previous “Lady Zion”?—must then have posed itself still more urgently then than it has in more recent times. She indeed seemed like some sort of collective embodiment of Israel, but he, by contrast, sounded like an altogether real, flesh-andblood human who had lived through the terrible siege of Jerusalem and all the suffering that it had occasioned. Who could he be? This question must have been even more urgent in Second Temple times than it is nowadays because we know that the matter of the authorship of various sacred texts came to be a most pressing concern during this period. Presumably, the right sort of author—a prophet certified to have heard the voice of God—could be trusted to speak words that were true and authoritative; anyone else was simply a human being expressing ideas that might or might not be correct. So it was that, for example, two common ways of attributing authority to the Pentateuch alternate freely in late biblical books such as Chronicles, Ezra, and Daniel: the “Torah of God” and the “Torah of Moses.” Apparently, the one was scarcely less an assertion of authority than the other.18 Moreover, this “Torah of Moses” gradually came to include every word of the Pentateuch, and not just those laws whose transmission from God to Moses was explicitly asserted now and again in the books of Exodus through Deuteronomy. In other words, Moses came to be thought of as the author/ transmitter of the altogether unattributed primeval history in chapters 1–11 of Genesis, as well as of the equally unattributed patriarchal history that makes 18  Sara Japhet, The Ideology of the Book of Chronicles and its Place in Biblical Thought (Frankfurt a/M: Peter Lang, 1989), 235–36; more generally, H. Najman, Seconding Sinai: the Development of Mosaic Discourse in Second Temple Judaism (Leiden: Brill, 2003), esp. 1–40.

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up the rest of that book.19 In fact, as the “Torah of Moses” came to include every word of the Pentateuch, Moses had to be responsible for his own biography, which runs, unattributed and in the third person, from the beginning of Exodus through the end of Numbers, as well as for the whole long first speech of Deuteronomy that is attributed to him. No authorial vacuum could be tolerated in any part of this sacred text. For similar reasons, though probably a bit later in history, the last 27 chapters of the book of Isaiah (nowadays widely accepted to be a quite separate work composed by one or more anonymous authors who lived long after Isaiah, during and/or following the Babylonian exile) were attached to the end of an earlier form of that book precisely because their true authorship was either unknown or lacked the authority of a recognized prophet. However improbable the claim,20 these chapters could become sacred Scripture if asserted to be part of Isaiah’s writings. The same process led to the still later insertion into the Isaianic corpus of such compositions as the so-called “Isaiah apocalypse” (this apocalypse now comprises chapters 24–27 of the book of Isaiah); other insertions may have followed even these. The attribution of the entire book of Psalms to David may seem counterintuitive nowadays—and it certainly posed problems back in Second Temple times as well; nevertheless, David not only came to be thought of as the author of the entire Psalter during that period, but was more or less simultaneously promoted from singer to prophet, so that his words, no less than those of Isaiah or Jeremiah, could partake of the prophet’s authority.21 Proverbs, Ecclesiastes, and the Song of Songs all followed the same route to explicit authorship, all ultimately being attributed to the divine wisdom granted to King Solomon (1 Kgs 3:12). One less known, but no less striking, bit of testimony to this nearobsessive concern with authorship is to be found in a passing remark of the 19  This attribution clearly stands behind another, the superscription of Psalm 90, “A Prayer of Moses the man of God.” As B. Childs argued, the quite unique attribution of a psalm to Moses rests on Psalm 90’s reference to the Creation: “Before the mountains were brought forth, or You had even formed the earth and the world . . .” Who could know about this but Moses? See B. Childs, “Psalms Titles and Midrashic Exegesis,” JSS 16 (1971), 137. 20  Apart from the chronological problem posed by obvious references to later times, Benjamin Sommer has demonstrated that, contrary to expectations, the most numerous allusions to other books in the prophetic corpus are not to the earlier chapters of Isaiah, but to the book of Jeremiah. B. D. Sommer, A Prophet Reads Scripture: Allusion in Isaiah 40–66 (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1998). 21  See my “David the Prophet,” in J. Kugel, Poetry and Prophecy (Cornell Univ. Press, 1990), 45–55; likewise my In Potiphar’s House: the Interpretive Life of Biblical Texts in Early Judaism and Christianity (HarperCollins, 1990), 173–213.

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pseudepigraphic Ascension of Isaiah. While roughly half of the psalms in our Psalter bear some superscription apparently connecting them to Davidic authorship, the other half do not. Who wrote them? And all these things are written in the . . . parables of David, the son of Jesse, and in the Proverbs of Solomon his son,22 and in the words of Korah and of Ethan the Israelite, and in the words of Asaph, and also in the other psalms which the angel of the Spirit has inspired, that is, in those [psalms] that have no name attached to them. (4:21–22) In other words, even those psalms that have no superscription should not be thought of as the work of ordinary men; they come from, or at least were inspired by, the “angel of the Spirit.”23 2 Jeremiah Almost as soon as the authorship of different books in Israel’s sacred library became a concern, the attribution of Lamentations to Jeremiah must have seemed obvious and indisputable, even if this attribution was only made explicit somewhat later. After all, who was the ‫ גבר‬who had known affliction and whose writings were part of Israel’s sacred library? Who if not Jeremiah, the prophet of the fall, the one who foresaw all that was to occur and who sought, in vain, to warn his countrymen? The evidence from within the book of Jeremiah was certainly sufficient documentation,24 but perhaps more relevant to our subject and period is the brief summary of the events at the very end of 2 Chronicles:

22  In context, the author seems to mean those psalms attributed to Solomon (72 and 127), not the book of Proverbs. 23  No wonder that, looking back from the end of the first century CE on the whole sacred corpus of Scripture, Josephus could proudly assert that, unlike the writings of Greek historians, those of the Jews contained no contradictions, because they ultimately originated with what God had transmitted through His prophets: “Therefore, it reasonably— or rather, it necessarily—follows that, since among us it is not granted to just anyone to write things down, there is no disagreement in whatever is written, but on the contrary, the prophets alone had this privilege, having learned of the most distant and ancient history through divine inspiration.” (Ap. 1:37) 24  Note in this connection as well, Bezzel, “ ‘Man of Constant Sorrows.’ ”

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At the age of twenty-one Zedekiah became king, and he reigned eleven years in Jerusalem. He did what was wrong in the eyes of the Lord; he did not humble himself before the prophet Jeremiah, who spoke for the Lord . . . All the chiefs of the priests and the people were guilty of numerous transgressions . . . They mocked God’s messengers and disdained His words and taunted His prophets, until the wrath of the Lord against His people grew beyond remedy . . . They burned down the house of God and destroyed the wall of Jerusalem, burning down all its mansions, and putting to ruin all its most precious things. Those who survived were exiled to Babylon, and they became [the king’s] and his sons’ slaves until the rise of the Persian kingdom, [all this] in keeping with what the Lord had said through the mouth of Jeremiah . . . And in the first year of the reign of King Cyrus of Persia, in fulfillment of what the Lord had said through the mouth of Jeremiah, the Lord awakened the spirit of King Cyrus of Persia, and he sent forth an announcement throughout his kingdom [that is, the Edict of Cyrus]. (2 Chr 36:11–23) Here, Jeremiah is everywhere present as the events swirl around him: it was the fact that Zedekiah did not “humble himself before the prophet Jeremiah” that brought about the Lord’s “displeasure” with His people: the subsequent destruction and exile, and even Cyrus’ edict, likewise came in fulfillment of “what the Lord had said through the mouth of Jeremiah.” In short, all these events featured Jeremiah at their very center. Who, then, but this prophet of God might have been chosen to bemoan the fall in five stirring laments? True, he may have spoken at times through the persona of that corporate figure, ‫בת‬ ‫ציון‬, but the very fact that chapter 3 opens with the proclamation “I am the man . . .” made it clear that Jeremiah was now, after two collective laments, coming forward to tell his own story and thus identify himself as the author not only of this chapter but of the whole book. In truth, there was no need of specific proof, no particular verse or verses from Jeremiah’s other writings, to make the case for his authorship of Lamentations. He was the natural candidate, the one prophet most closely associated with the events leading up to the destruction of the Jerusalem temple. This notwithstanding, it was easy to find proof from within the book of Jeremiah to support this contention. To begin with, weeping (‫ )בכה‬and lamenting (‫ )קונן‬are close cousins in biblical Hebrew, so Jeremiah’s famous evocation of tears— O that my head were a spring of water and my eyes a fountain of tears, so that I might weep day and night for the slain of my poor people (8:23)

478

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—only reinforced the idea that God had chosen him to “weep day and night for the slain of my poor people” in the book of Lamentations. Likewise: Cut off your hair [as a sign of mourning] and cast it aside, and raise up a lament (‫ )קינה‬on the heights, for the Lord has spurned and cast off the brood that provoked His wrath. (7:29) If you do not heed, my soul will weep (‫ ) ִת ְב ֶכה‬in secret for your pride; My eyes will flow with tears, because the Lord’s flock has been taken captive. (13:17) Indeed, sometimes Jeremiah’s words in his own book seemed later to be echoed in the language of Lamentations: Weep bitterly (‫ ) ְבכּו ָבכֹו‬for him who is going, for he will not return to see again his kinsmen’s land. (Jer 22:10) She bitterly weeps (‫ )בכ ִת ְב ֶכה‬at night, and her tears are on her cheek . . . (Lam 1:2) Beyond such verbal resemblances was the explicit mention of Jeremiah as a man of public lamenting in 2 Chr 35:25 (cf. 1 Esdras 1:30–31): Jeremiah also uttered a lament (‫ )קינה‬for Josiah, and all the male and female singers speak of Josiah in their laments to this day; these were made a fixity for Israel; they are recorded in the Laments (‫)הקינות‬. The death of Josiah of course preceded the fall of Jerusalem by some years, but the fact that Jeremiah was mentioned here as the composer of a specific lament, perhaps one included in the collection of laments performed by the male and female singers, no doubt further strengthened the tie between the prophet and the five laments of Lamentations. In short, biblical evidence was not lacking to support the notion that Jeremiah and the author of Lamentations were one and the same—if such evidence were even needed. 3

The Greek Prologue

One quite explicit attribution of the authorship of Lamentations to Jeremiah is found in the superscription of that book in the Old Greek translation.

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καὶ ἐγένετο μετὰ τὸ αἰχμαλωτισθῆναι τὸν Ισραηλ καὶ Ιερουσαλημ ἐρημωθῆναι ἐκάθισεν Ιερεμιας κλαίων καὶ ἐθρήνησεν τὸν θρῆνον τοῦτον ἐπὶ Ιερουσαλημ καὶ εἶπεν

Πῶς ἐκάθισεν μόνη ἡ πόλις . . .

And it came to pass, after Israel was taken prisoner and Jerusalem laid to waste, that Jeremiah sat down weeping and lamented with this lamentation over Jerusalem; and he said, “How does the city sit solitary . . .” (1:0–1) It would be nice for an examination of Jeremiah’s evolving image in post-biblical times if a fairly fixed date could be assigned to this attribution, but—to begin with—the dating of the Old Greek translation of Lamentations remains somewhat in dispute.25 What is more, even if the actual translation could be dated with some specificity, the Greek superscription itself may have been added at a later stage, its earliest attestation going back only as far as the earliest Septuagint manuscript. Quite apart from this superscription, however, the very placement of Lamentations in the Old Greek canon, that is, following the book of Jeremiah, offers some indirect evidence of the book’s earlier attribution to Jeremiah. This placement would strongly suggest (if not quite clinch the argument) that Lamentations was considered to be the work of the prophet Jeremiah and thus deserved to appear alongside his book,26 within that part of the canon that contained explicitly prophetic writings. (This is how the book appears in Codex Sinaiticus [fourth century CE]; it comes after Jeremiah and 1 Baruch in Codex Vaticanus.)27 Before leaving the Greek superscription, one peculiarity might be noted. It says that Jeremiah “sat down weeping and lamented.” Now it is true that, in the Bible and real life, people sometimes sit down to weep (as Hagar does, for 25  It had been suggested, on the basis of its kaige affiliations, that this Greek text is actually the translation of Theodotion (ca. 150 CE); however, this attribution has lately been reexamined, and the Theodotion attribution thrown into question. See P. J. Gentry, “Old Greek and Later Revisers: Can We Always Distinguish Them?” in A. Voitila and J. Jokiranta, Scripture in Transition: Essays on Septuagint, Hebrew Bible, and the Dead Sea Scrolls (FS Sollamo) (Leiden: Brill, 2008), who cites the dissertation of Kevin Youngblood, “Translation Techniques in the Greek Lamentations” (PhD dissertation, Southern Baptist Theological Seminary 2005) refuting the Theodotion connection; see also G. Kotze, “Two Difficult Passages in the Hebrew Texts of Lamentations 5: Text-Critical Analyses of the Greek Translation,” in J. Cook and H-J Stipp, Text-Critical and Hermeneutical Studies of the Septuagint (SVT 157) 275–96. 26  Along with, in some manuscripts, 1 Baruch and the Epistle of Jeremiah. 27  Note that the targum, along with the famous passage of b. Baba Batra 15a, attribute Lamentations to Jeremiah; see E. Levine, The Aramaic Version of Lamentations (New York: Hermon Press, 1976), 25, as well as b. Mo‘ed Qat. 26a.

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example, in Gen 20:16). Still, this combination may suggest a connection to Psalm 137, “By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down and wept,” a psalm that was sometimes directly or indirectly attributed to Jeremiah.28 4

Ben Sira

Ben Sira’s mention of Jeremiah (49:7) is quite brief; it comes as something of an afterthought to his unstinting praise of Josiah. If he is mentioned at all, it is probably because Ben Sira generally seeks to assert throughout this catalogue of biblical heroes that there existed a great chain of prophets. But its near-silence about Jeremiah may say something about his “image” ca. 180 BCE. Following is the Hebrew text preserved in Ms. B from the Cairo Geniza: ‫וכבודם לגוי נבל נכרי‬ ‫ויתן קרנם לאחור‬ ‫וישמו ארחותיה‬ ‫ויציתו קרית קודש‬ ‫ביד ירמיהו כי ענוהו‬ ‫והוא מרחם נוצר נביא‬ ‫לנתוש ולנתוץ ולהאביד ולהרס וכן לבנת לנטע ולהשיב‬

He [God] set their [i.e., Israel’s] greatness aback, and [gave] their glory to a foolish foreign nation. They burned the holy city and made its streets desolate, by the hand of Jeremiah, for they tortured him, and he was created a prophet in the womb, to uproot and pull down, to wipe out and destroy, as well as to build and to plant and to restore.29 The Hebrew text is problematic in several respects. “Set their greatness aback” is strange; in all likelihood ‫ לאחור‬should be amended to ‫לאחר‬, that is, “He gave their greatness to another,” similar to the Greek text “to others” (ἑτέροις). As for the second half of this verse, the ‫“( גוי נבל‬foolish nation”) is an allusion to Deut 32:21, where God promises to vex Israel with a foolish nation as punishment for its idol-worship. It seems likely, however, that the phrase ‫ גוי נבל‬is a later insertion into this verse (it is lacking in the Greek and Syriac texts),30 the original 28  See on this J. Kugel, In Potiphar’s House, 173–213. 29  On this passage see M. H. Segal, The Book of Ben Sira (Hebrew) (Jerusalem: Mossad Bialik, 1972), 338; P. Skehan and A. Di Lella, The Wisdom of Ben Sira (New York: Doubleday, 1987), 541. 30  Note that Ben Sira elsewhere cites the same phrase, ‫גוי נבל‬, in 50:26, where it clearly refers not to the Babylonians but to the inhabitants of Shechem. See on this J. Kugel, “The Story of Dinah in the Testament of Levi,” Harvard Theological Review 85 (1992) 1–34.

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text having read simply: “He gave their greatness to another, and their glory to a foreign nation.” In general, what seems potentially of interest for our subject is precisely the lack of reference to Jeremiah as one who lamented, and specifically as the author of Lamentations. The only possible connection might come in the next line (49:6), “They burned the holy city and made its streets (‫ )ארחותיה‬desolate.” The mention of “streets” (‫ )ארחותיה‬is apparently designed to evoke the common motif of the destroyed city of Jerusalem no longer attracting passers-by on the roads leading to it (Isa 33:8, 34:10, 60:15; Jer 9:9,11, etc.).31 Ben Sira might indeed be thinking specifically of these last two verses from the MT book of Jeremiah. On the other hand, he might also have in mind what was said of Jerusalem in Lamentations 1:4, “Zion’s roads are in mourning, without festival pilgrims (‫)דרכי ציון אבלות מבלי באי מועד‬.” If the latter, then continuing on to the next words in the Hebrew Ben Sira, “by the hand of Jeremiah,” might seem to attribute the previous words—and therefore, the whole of the book of Lamentations—to Jeremiah.32 But on balance, this is very slim evidence on which to base any solid conclusion. Who then, for Ben Sira, was Jeremiah the man? It seems clear that this question hardly interested him; he scarcely goes beyond what is said in the first chapter of the biblical book, where God informs Jeremiah that he had been chosen in utero (or actually, even before then) to be a prophet (Jer 1:5), and that his mission as such was both to uproot and to plant (1:10).33 The other element from Jeremiah’s biography here is that he foresaw the destruction of the Holy City—certainly a biblical and Second Temple commonplace—and that he suffered for foretelling it.34 Whether or not the word ‫ ארחותיה‬is meant as an 31  Note that while Lam 1:4 uses the word ‫ דרכים‬for “roads”, the word ]‫ אורח[ת]י[ה‬appears in a corresponding verse in 4Q179 Lamentation on Jerusalem, frag 2:7. 32  Clearly there is something amiss here as well—the verse should read “as was said by Jeremiah” or the like. 33  Again, the text here seems corrupt: the Urtext must have included only two verbs, one negative and one positive, from the six mentioned in Jer 1:10, since more than two would have ruined the overall structure of the verse; but a later sage/scribe, recognizing the biblical allusion, nonetheless decided to cite all six verbs, creating the current jumble. 34  Greek has ἐκάκωσαν γὰρ αὐτόν which would normally be Hebrew ‫( הרעוהו‬ill-treated him) rather than ‫( ענוהו‬tortured him); however, both Deut 26:6 and Ps 90 appose these two verbs, so their meaning was probably closer than their English translations suggest. In any event, the book of Jeremiah does indeed report ill-treatment of the prophet to the point of torture (Jeremiah 38). More generally, as we have seen, 2 Chron 36:14–17 blames the destruction of Jerusalem on its mistreatment of prophets: “They mocked the messengers of God and disdained His words and taunted His prophets, until the wrath of

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evocation of Lam 1:4, there is no specific mention of Jeremiah the lamenter; apparently, this was not a salient point in his biography, at least according to Ben Sira. However, this side of the prophet’s late- and post-biblical image is quite prominent in other sources. 5

Jeremiah the Lachrymose

A great many exegetical motifs emerged in the midrashic elaboration of the events surrounding the fall of Jerusalem, among them those that might be titled “Ark and Tablets Saved by Jeremiah”;35 “Baruch Exiled to Babylon”;36 “Jeremiah Went to Babylon”;37 “Threw the Keys of the Temple to Heaven”38 and quite a few more.39 For the present study, however, the most important motif—arising, I believe, principally from the idea that Jeremiah was the author of the book of Lamentations—is the one that might be termed “Jeremiah the Lachrymose.” Time and time again, texts from the Second Temple period represent Jeremiah as weeping, a posture which, if not entirely absent from the biblical book that bears his name, came to be greatly exaggerated in post-biblical texts.40 the Lord against His people grew beyond remedy.” The motif of the mistreatment of the prophets appears frequently in late- and post-biblical sources: “They killed your prophets who admonished them to turn back to You; they committed great impieties. You delivered them into the power of their adversaries who oppressed them” (Neh 9:26–7). See also: Jub 1:12; Matt 23:37–24:2. 35  This is first found in Eupolemus, frag 4; see also 2 Macc 2:1–8; cf. 1 Bar. 1:8–9; 2 Bar 6:1–9; Par. Ier. 3:8–20; Josephus, JA 18:85–7, Lives of the Prophets 2:11. But contrast 2 Chr 36:10. See inter alia: G. W. E. Nickelsburg, “Narrative Traditions in the Paralipomena of Jeremiah and 2 Baruch,” CBQ 35 (1973), 60–68; I. Kalimi and J. D. Purvis, “The Hiding of the Temple Vessels in Jewish and Samaritan Literature,” CBQ 56 (1994), 679–685. 36  1 Baruch 1:1, Seder Olam, 26 (end): Song of Songs Rabba 5:5; b. Meg 16b. 37  See below. 38   Paraleipomena Ieremiou 4:4–5; 2 Baruch 10:18; Pes. Rabbati 26:6. 39  See J. Kugel, In Potiphar’s House, 173–213. 40  Part of Jeremiah’s reputation as “the weeping prophet” derives from the biblical book bearing his name, in particular Jer 8:23, but his being credited with the authorship of Lamentations seems to have been crucial in this regard. Note that, as a result, Christian iconography frequently depicted him as weeping or nearly so, head clasped in hands or mouth covered as if holding back his lamenting. (For a selection of images:https:// www.google.co.il/search?hl=en&site=imghp&tbm=isch&source=hp&biw=1049&bih=7 21&q=jeremiah+weeping&oq=jeremiah+weeping&gs_l=img.12.0l2j0i24l2.2156.4946.0.9 914.16.15.0.0.0.0.335.2526.0j7j4j1.12.0.starcmoon . . .0. . .1.1.46.img.4.12.2507.78VnaTgc-A0.) Thematically, though not exegetically, related is an incident in 4 Ezra: Ezra has a vision in

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Somewhat symptomatic is the depiction of Jeremiah and Baruch in the composition known as 4 Baruch or the Paraleipomena Ieremiou. “Let us not draw water for the troughs,” Jeremiah tells Baruch while they are both in the Jerusalem Temple, “but let us weep and fill them with tears” (2:5). The text then adds, “And so they both remained at the altar weeping, and their garments were torn” (2:10). Later, the text reports, “When Jeremiah and Baruch saw them [the angels come to deliver Jerusalem into the hands of the Babylonians] they wept, saying ‘Now we know that the word is true.’ ” “The two sat down and wept” again in 3:19. Then, “while Jeremiah was still weeping for the people” (4:6), the Babylonians carried him off with his countrymen people. Baruch wept upon Jeremiah’s departure (4:7), and wept again when he left Jerusalem, saying “Grieving over you, Jerusalem, I have left you” (4:11). Jeremiah is seen again weeping in 7:15; then the people weep in 7:22. Baruch weeps yet again in 7:36 and again in 9:8–9. A veritable weep-fest! The same theme appears in 2 Baruch: [Baruch recounts:] I went and took Jeremiah and . . . all the honorable men of the people, and I led them to the Kidron Valley, and I told them all that had been said to me. And they lifted up their voice and wept. (5:5–6) And I, Baruch came, and Jeremiah, whose heart was found pure from sins, and who had not been captured in the seizure of the city. And we rent our garments, we wept, and mourned, and fasted seven days. (9:10) And [Jeremiah] departed with the people [to Babylon], but I, Baruch, returned and sat before the gates of the Temple, and I lamented with the following lamentation over Zion. (10:4–5) When we come to consider the Qumran writings the picture is much the same. Consider this brief passage in 4Q383‎published by Devorah Dimant:41 which he meets a woman, who is in fact Zion itself; he laments bitterly for the destruction of the Temple (10:19–23), in altogether Jeremiah-like fashion. See M. Chilton Callaway, “The Lamenting Prophet and the Modern Self: On the Origins of Contemporary Readings of Jeremiah” J. Kaltner and L. Stillman, Inspired Speech:Prophecy in the Ancient Near East (London: T & T. Clark, 2004) 48–62. 41   Parabiblical Texts, Part 4: Pseudo-Prophetic Texts (DJD 30; Oxford: Clarendon, 2001) p. 118. Dimant considers this fragment to be part of a longer “Apocryphon of Jeremiah C,” which includes 4Q385a (see below) and other fragments, dating its composition to the second century BCE, perhaps even to pre-Maccabean times (115–16). The Jeremiah apocryphon is one of two pseudo-prophetic compositions identified by Dimant in these fragments;

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Kugel

[° ̇‫ [   ]פן‬1 2 3 4

. . . ‫ואני ירמיה בכו אב[כה‬ . . . ‫יענה בארץ לוא נושׂ[בת‬ . . . [ ‫על אׁשר העדותי‬ . . . ‫אליהם אש[ר‬

5

2. And I, Jeremiah, we[ep] bitterly[. . .] 3. ostriches in an uninha[bited] land [. . . .] 4. since I warned [. . . .] 5. against them . . .[. . .]42 Clearly, for our theme it is the first line that is crucial, since it not only attributes “weeping” to Jeremiah, but likewise reproduces the combination of an infinitive absolute with a finite verb (‫ )בכו אב[כה‬that appears in Lam 1:2 (‫)בכו תבכה‬.43 But it is important to see this assertion in what one can make out of its wider context. The uninhabited land mentioned in the next line is Jerusalem after the Fall, as is stated in Jer 6:8, “Be chastened, O Jerusalem, lest I come to loathe you—lest I turn you into a wasteland (‫ )שממה‬a land uninhabited (‫)ארץ לוא נושבה‬.” The word ‫ יענה‬was understood by Dimant as the second part of the expression ‫בנות יענה‬, “ostriches,” since ostriches are commonly mentioned as inhabitants of desolate wastelands (Isa 13:21, 34:13, 43:20; Jer 50:39) such as that suggested by the following words in our text, ‫בארץ לוא נושׂ[בה‬.44 At the same time, ‫ יענה‬could also be construed as a form of ‫“( ענה‬torture, mistreat”), which was mentioned in connection with Jeremiah in the brief passage from Ben Sira seen above.45 Of the two alternatives, “ostriches” actually seems preferable. Jeremiah must be saying that he is weeping over Jerusalem, which has become a “place of ostriches, a land uninhabited”; it would be difficult to integrate Jeremiah’s being mistreated or tortured into the context of a desert the other she labeled “Pseudo-Ezekiel.” Her division of the texts and overriding thesis has been questioned by Monica Brady in her doctoral dissertation, “Prophetic Traditions at Qumran: a Study of 4Q383–391” (Notre Dame, 2000). Brady prefers to see these fragments as all belonging to a single, pseudo-prophetic text. 42  The reading and translation proposed by Dimant is somewhat different: “And I, Jeremiah, we[ep] bitterly[. . .]/ostriche[s], in an uninha[bited] land [. . . .]/ since I have stirred up[. . .]/ a prince against me [. . . .].” See below. 43  The same combination appears with the plural imperative in the above-mentioned Jer 22:10. 44  Note that the forms ‫ נושׂבת‬and ‫ נושׂבה‬are equally possible here. 45   D. Kopeliovich, “The Motif of the Persecuted Prophet,” PhD dissertation, Hebrew University, 2012, p. 89.

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wasteland. As for Dimant’s reading “stirred up” (‫ )הערותי‬in line 4, I believe a better reading might be ‫“( העדותי‬I warned”):46 Jeremiah’s post-biblical image (as attested thus far in the Ben Sira passage) prominently featured his role as a scorned prophet, one who foretold but was not heeded. In short: this brief fragment depicts Jeremiah as weeping over the fate of Jerusalem, now turned to a deserted wasteland; all this came about, apparently, because the people refused to heed the prophet’s warnings. 6

Don’t Bother Praying

But why didn’t Jeremiah do something instead of just weeping? After all, he was God’s chosen prophet; could he not have sought directly to intervene on Israel’s behalf, as Moses before him had done successfully so many times (Exod 17:1–7; 32:7–14; Num 11:1–2; 16:41–50; 21:4–9; 25:1–9; 32:13–24)? The answer to this query is found in the book of Jeremiah itself: God had actually forbidden Jeremiah to pray. Thus, after having told Jeremiah that the Jerusalem temple will meet the same fate as that of Shiloh, God turns to Jeremiah and says: As for you, do not pray for this people, do not raise a cry or prayer on their behalf (‫)אל תתפלל בעד העם הזה ואל תשא בעדם רנה ותפילה‬, and do not entreat Me, for I will not hear you. (7:16) The same instruction not to pray is mentioned twice more in later chapters: [God tells Jeremiah:] “As for you, do not pray for this people, do not raise a cry or prayer on their behalf, because I will not listen when they cry out to Me in time of trouble.” (11:14) And the Lord said to me: “Do not pray for the benefit of this people. Even when they fast I will not heed their prayer, and when they offer up burnt offerings and meal offerings, I will not accept them, but by warfare and famine and disease I will wipe them out.” (14:11–12)

46  The confusion of daleth and resh is of course notorious, but examining the image of this line (PAM 43.430), the daleth here seems clearly to contrast with the resh two lines above: its upper horizontal bar does not jut out beyond the vertical line, whereas the daleth in line 4 clearly does.

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Kugel

Considering these passages, however, ancient interpreters came up with a new reason for this interdiction to pray, one not present in the biblical texts themselves. It was not, they claimed, that God was simply informing Jeremiah that any attempt to dissuade Him would be useless. Quite the contrary! So great were Jeremiah’s prophetic powers that, had he sought to intervene, God would have been unable to resist. Thus in 2 Baruch, after God informs Baruch of the coming destruction of Jerusalem, He further instructs him: I have told you this so that you may tell Jeremiah, and all those that are like you, to leave this city. For your deeds are like a solid pillar to this city, and your prayers are like an impregnable wall. (2 Baruch 2:2)47 The images of the pillar and the wall come, not surprising, from the book of Jeremiah itself. There God tells Jeremiah: But you, gird up your loins; stand up and tell them [the people] everything that I command you. Do not break down before them [i.e., your enemies], or I will break you before them. And I for my part have made you today a fortified city, an iron pillar and a bronze wall, against the whole land. (1:17–18) Similarly: [God says to Jeremiah:] “And I will make you to this people a fortified wall of bronze; they will fight against you, but they will not prevail over you, for I am with you, to save and deliver you, say the Lord.” (15:20) Note, however, that in keeping with his claim that God would have to succumb to any prophetic appeal, the author of 2 Baruch has also distorted the significance of Jeremiah’s being “an iron pillar and a bronze wall.” In the two above-cited passages from Jeremiah, it is his own countrymen who will oppose Jeremiah; they will fight against him, but bump up against his invulnerability, his being like an iron pillar. In 2 Baruch, by contrast, Jeremiah’s prayers make him like an iron pillar vis-à-vis God. If he and Baruch were to remain in the city, God would be unable to enact His decree to overthrow it.

47  Cf. 2 Bar 85:1–2, where it is asserted that in former times, “holy prophets . . . interceded for us with our Creator, and the Almighty heard their prayer and forgave us.”

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The same idea appears elsewhere in Second Temple sources: It came to pass, when the Israelites were taken captive by the king of the Chaldeans, that God spoke to Jeremiah, “Jeremiah, my chosen one, get up and leave this city, you and Baruch, for I am about to destroy it because of the many sins of those who live in it. For your prayers are like a solid pillar in the middle of it, and like an indestructable wall around it. (Paraleipomena Ieremiou 1:1–2) If your petition was not like an adamantine wall surrounding them, surely I would now wipe them out. And if your prayer were not now like a pillar of light in the midst of Jerusalem, surely I would destroy it to its foundations, even as Sodom and Gomorrah. [. . . But] I forebear to destroy this people because you are in their midst . . . [15:1] When Jeremiah heard these things, he wept bitterly. (Coptic Jeremiah, p. 126)48 7

Tricked into Leaving

The idea that Jeremiah’s presence within Jerusalem might prevent God from destroying the city was connected to another element in the biblical narrative. In Jeremiah 32, the prophet reports that God had instructed him to buy a field in Anathoth from his cousin Hanamel. In context, the transaction seems to have taken place inside Jerusalem, where Jeremiah was imprisoned at the time; but a rabbinic motif supposes that the transaction actually took place in Anathoth49—and that this, in fact, was the whole idea behind God’s instruction. He wanted to trick Jeremiah into leaving the city in order to be able destroy it: Just as [it happened with] Benjamin, that so long as he was in his mother’s womb she did not die, but as soon as he came out she did die, as it is said: “and when her soul50 came out, she died”—so too, as long as Jeremiah was 48  K. H. Kuhn, “A Coptic Jeremiah Apocryphon,” Le Museon 83 (1970) 95–135 and 291–350; Similarly, a Garshuni text similar to this Apocryphon was published by A. Mingana, “Prefaces, Editions and Translations,” Woodebrook Studies: Christian Documents in Syriac, Arabic and Garshuni vol 1 (Cambridge: W. Heffer and Sons, 1927), 160: “Were it not for your prayers that have surrounded Jerusalem, none of its inhabitants would have been alive, and I would have destroyed it to its foundations.” 49  This is contradicted by 32:12, which states that the witnesses included “the Judeans who were sitting in the court of the guard,” located in Jerusalem. 50  Understood here to refer to Benjamin, presumably “his soul,” ‫נפשו‬.

488

Kugel

within Jerusalem it was not destroyed, but as soon as he went out, it was destroyed. About this Jeremiah said: “O Lord, You have enticed me, and I was enticed” [Jer 20:7], [that is,] You fooled me, and I got fooled. You took me out from the midst of it [Jerusalem], and then it was destroyed. [That is why] you said to me earlier, “Hanamel, the son of your uncle Shalom, is going to come to you and say, ‘Buy my field in Anathoth’ . . . and so [I left the city and] I bought the field” [Jer 32:7–9]—“You got the better of me and won!” [continuation of Jer 20:7]. (Pesiqta deR. Kahana 13:14) [On the verse:] “O Lord, You have enticed me, and I was enticed” [Jer 20:7]: When the time had come for Jerusalem to be destroyed, God said to Jeremiah: “Go to Anathoth and buy the field from your uncle51 Hanamel . . .” As soon as Jeremiah left Jerusalem, an angel came down from heaven and set his feet on the wall of Jerusalem and breached it; then he called out, “Let the enemy come in and enter the house whose master is not inside it, and despoil it and destroy it.” (Yalqut Shim‘oni Jeremiah, 300)52 8

Where and When

One final set of questions remains concerning Jeremiah’s authorship of Lamentations: where and when did he compose its five laments? The first four chapters of Lamentations are focused on the Babylonian siege of Jerusalem and the attendant suffering; one might conclude that Jeremiah wrote them during the siege itself. But the fifth chapter, by contrast, seems to describe Jerusalem after the fall. The Jerusalemites are apparently on their way into exile: We are hotly pursued; exhausted, we are given no rest. We hold out a hand to Egypt; to Assyria for our fill of bread. (Lam 5:5–6)53 At the same time, some of them seem to have stayed behind, to be persecuted by their captors in their own town: 51  Apparently a mistake for “cousin”; see Jer 32:9. 52  Note that Pesiqta Rabbati depicts Jeremiah “leaving Anathoth to enter Jerusalem: He looked up and saw smoke rising up from the Temple. He thought: perhaps the Israelites have repented and are offering up sacrifices . . . [When he saw the destruction] he exclaimed, “You have enticed me, and I was enticed.” See the synoptic edition of R. Ulmer, Pesiqta Rabbati (Lanham, MD: University Press of America, 2009), p. 658. 53  On the motif that developed out of this verse, “Given No Rest Stop,” see Kugel, Potiphar’s House, 180–82.

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Slaves rule over us, with no one to rescue us from them . . . Young men must carry millstones, and youths stagger under loads of wood. The old men are gone from the gate, the young men from their music-making. (Lam 5:8, 13–14) If so, then this chapter—or perhaps all five—was composed after the fall, either in Jerusalem or following the exiles into Babylon.54 In support of the latter, a number of sources suggest that Jeremiah accompanied the exiles part of the way, or all the way, to Babylon: [Baruch said:] And it came to pass after seven days that the word of God came to me and said to me, “Tell Jeremiah to go and support the captivity of the people to Babylon. But you remain here amidst the desolation of Zion . . . And I said to Jeremiah as the Lord commanded me, and he indeed departed with the people.” (2 Bar 10:1–5; see also 33:2) Similarly: [God said:] “But you, Jeremiah, go with your people into Babylon and stay with them, preaching to them, until I cause them to return to the city. But leave Baruch here until I speak with him.” (Paraleipomena Ieremiou 3:15–16; see also 4:6, 5:19, 7:27–9) The same source reports that Baruch later wrote a letter and sent it, via a cooperative eagle, to Jeremiah in Babylon (6:20–7:22), a letter to which Jeremiah then replied from exile (7:24–34).55 If so, perhaps Jeremiah composed the book of Lamentations in Babylon as he lamented all that had befallen his people.

54  A number of sources suggest that Jeremiah remained in Jerusalem after the fall, at least for a time. Thus, the MT of Jer 29:1–23 purports to be a letter that Jeremiah sent to the exiles from Jerusalem. In context, however, it seems that this letter was sent after the first Babylonian deportation of Judeans in 597 BCE (see 2 Kgs 24:10–17); the same appears to be true of the apocryphal “Letter of Jeremiah” apparently modeled on it. Jeremiah still might have accompanied the later exiles after the final destruction of Jerusalem. Against this, however, is the passage of 2 Macc 2:1–3, which reports that Jeremiah “instructed those who were being deported [after the city had fallen to the Babylonians] not to forget the commandments of the Lord . . . and with similar words exhorted them that the Torah should not depart from their hearts.” Apparently, he instructed them then because he was not going with them. 55  See now S. Fraade, “The Letter of Jeremiah,” in Feldman et al., Outside the Bible vol 2 (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 2014), 1535–44.

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Kugel

A somewhat intermediate position appears in Pesiqta Rabbati, based on Jer 40:4:56 When he [Jeremiah] reached the river Euphrates, Nebuzaradan, the Baby­lonian general, called to him and said: “If you wish, go with me to Babylon” (Jer. 40:4). Jeremiah thought to himself: “If I go with them to Babylon, there will be no one to comfort the other exiles,” so he left them there.57 9

Don’t Pray; Lament Instead!

So where was Jeremiah when he composed Lamentations? Another possibility was Tahpanhes, the Egyptian city in which Jeremiah is said to have taken refuge (Jer 43:7, 44:1, and 46:14). One striking piece of evidence in this regard is a passage in the Qumran “Apocryphon of Jeremiah C.”58 ] ‫בתחפנס א[שר בארץ מצרים‬ ]‫ וישבעע‬59[‫ויאמרו לו דרוש[ נא בעדנו לאל]הים‬ ]‫להם ירמי̇ [ה ל]בלתי דרוש להם לאלה[ים ושאת בעדם‬ ]‫ [על בני ישראל ובוכה‬° ‫רנה ותפלה ויהי ירמיה מקונן‬ ]‫ויהי דבר יהוה אל‬ [ ‫ע]ל ירושלים‬ ]‫ירמיה בארץ תחפנס אשר בארץ מצ[רים לאמר דבר אל‬ ]‫אותי‬ [° ‫בני ישראל ואל בני יהודה ובנימים‬ ]‫שמ[רו ואל תלכו‬ ̇ ‫יום יום דרשו את חקותי ואת מצותי‬ ]‫אחרי פ[ס]ילי הגוים אשר הל[כו אחריהם אבותיכם כי‬ ] [° ‫ לא‬°] ‫לא יושי [עו] ̇ל[כם‬

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

56  In Jer 40:2–6, Nebuzaradan’s offer is quite gracious, but Jeremiah, for reasons unstated, goes to Mizpah to stay with Gedaliah “among the people who were left in the land” (40:6). 57  Ulmer, Pesiqta Rabbati, 659. Part of the Qumran “Apocryphon of Jeremiah” similarly suggests that Jeremiah went “as far as the river” and then, presumably, headed back again: “And the prophet Jeremiah went [with them until] the river. And he told them what they should do in the land of [their] captivity.” As to the stopping point at the river, note D. Dimant’s discussion of the “river Sur” mentioned in 4Q389 frag 1:7, which, as she observes, appears to be identical to the “river Sud” in Babylon, mentioned in 1 Bar 1:4. See her Parabiblical Texts, Part 4: Pseudo-Prophetic Texts, p. 222. 58  Dimant, Parabiblical Texts, Part 4: Pseudo-Prophetic Texts, 4Q385a fragment 18 col ii (p. 163). The passage was transcribed and translated by Dimant. Elisha Qimron has proposed some revised readings; E. Qimron, The Dead Sea Scrolls: the Hebrew Writings vol 2 (Jerusalem: Yad Ben Zvi, 2013), 95. 59  Missing here is some expression of Jeremiah’s refusal: ‫ וימאן‬or the like.

“ I am the Man ”

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1. in Tahpanes w[hich is in the land of Egypt . . .] 2. And they said to him, “Beseech now [Go]d [on our behalf].” [. . . and] Jeremia[h] [refused and adjured] 3. them [th]at they not beseech Go[d] for themselves [or to offer up on their behalf] 4. supplication or prayer. And Jeremiah was lamenting [over the Israelites and weeping] 5. ov[er] Jerusalem. Blank [And the word of the Lord came to] 6. Jeremiah in the land of Tahpanes which is in the Land of Eg[ypt, saying, “Speak to] 7. The children of Israel and to the children of Judah and Benjamin [and say to them60] 8. “Every day, search out My laws and ke[ep] my commandments [and do not stray] 9. after the statues of the nations, [after] which [your fathers st]rayed [since] 10. They will not save y[ou . . .] not [. .] Here, once again, is the motif of God’s instruction to Jeremiah not to pray on behalf of the people—but the time and location of that motif has been changed: Jeremiah is no longer inside Jerusalem’s walls, but in “Tahpanhes in the land of Egypt,” a point insisted upon in both halves of this passage. Moreover, when the people ask Jeremiah to pray on their behalf (line 2), he not only refuses but also adjures them not to pray.61 (This switch from Jeremiah being forbidden to pray to the people being forbidden is actually adumbrated in the two biblical passages cited above: “Do not raise a cry or prayer on their behalf, because I will not listen when they cry out to Me” [Jer 11:14] and “Do not pray for the benefit of this people. Even when they fast I will not heed their prayer” [14:11–12].) But then the text adds, “And Jeremiah was lamenting [over the Israelites and weeping] ov[er] Jerusalem.” “Lamenting” doesn’t necessarily refer to the book of Lamentations, and even if it did, this still would not tell us where and when, according to this passage, Jeremiah had first composed that work. But this text is one more little stitch connecting Jeremiah to the lamenting that is the essence of that book—and placing his lamentation in Tahpanhes in Egypt, 60  Qimron had suggested ‫ אותי‬here on the basis of Isa 58:2, but that seems inappropriate in context; “and say to them” would be a normal follow-up to “Speak to the children of Israel” 61  It is noteworthy that in instructing his countrymen not to pray, the prophet adopts the same expression as that used by God in Jer 7:16, “do not raise a cry or prayer on their behalf” (‫)ואל תשא בעדם רנה ותפילה‬.

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Kugel

amidst the Judean exiles who have found refuge there. Note, moreover, that Jeremiah is lamenting alone. Apparently, to lament was not the task of just anyone, as the lone ‫ גבר‬of Lam 3:1 attests: it was apparently a job reserved for a divinely inspired prophet. Meanwhile, what the people should do is accept God’s decree, study His commandments, and refrain from worshiping idols.62 Beyond these points, however, is another. In this passage, the mention of Jeremiah’s lamenting has no obvious connection to what precedes it, his own refusal to pray and his instruction to his countrymen not to do so either. Nor, for that matter, does it have any connection to what immediately follows it, God’s further order to tell the Israelites, “Every day, search out My laws and ke[ep] my commandments.” Why then insert this apparently gratuitous mention of Jeremiah’s lamenting? Its juxtaposition to the preceding line seems to suggest that lamenting was what Jeremiah was doing instead of the praying he had just forbidden. It is as if God had said, “Don’t pray to Me; lament!” This apparently was the proper response of God’s chosen prophet to the divinely decreed period of exile. Again, Lamentations 3 offers some support for this understanding: [Jeremiah said to God:] You have closed Yourself off in a cloud, so that no prayer may get through; You have made us filth and rubbish in the midst of the peoples. All our enemies clamored against us; panic and pitfall came over us, devastation and destruction. Let my eyes shed streams of water over the ruin of my people. My eyes will flow unceasingly, without respite, until the Lord looks down from heaven and sees. (3:44–50) It may be that a very fragmentary text, first classified as 4‎Q374‎Discourse on the Exodus/Conquest Tradition fragment 9 is related to the same tradition: [° °°] [° ‫ק]ינה אשר קונן‬ [ ‫]באמר יהוה אליו‬ [°‫יט]הרו מן ח‬ [° ‫כ]ל אשר‬ ̇

1 2 3

4 5

62  This is of course the main theme of the “Letter of Jeremiah” included among the biblical apocrypha.

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Despite its extremely poor state, this fragment has something to contribute to our theme. As Dimant has pointed out, there can be little doubt that the first legible line refers to Jeremiah, since he is the only biblical lamenter to whom God spoke, as the following line asserts (‫)באמר יהוה אליו‬.63 As for line 4, there is some disagreement. Carol Newsom, in her publication of the fragment,64 read only the letters ‫ הרו‬in the first word. Recently, Dimant has suggested that a slight trace of the “lower end” of the letter zayin is just visible on the manuscript, leading her to propose the restoration of the imperative plural, ‫הזהרו‬. This is certainly a possibility, but the manuscript evidence seems to allow for another, that those three consonants may represent some form of the verb ‫“( טהר‬purify”). If so, this line could be part of a restatement of God’s words to Jeremiah in Jer 33:7–8: And I shall return the exiles of Judah and the exiles of Israel and rebuild them as they were before. And I will purify them of all their transgressions which they sinned against Me and by which they rebelled against Me (‫)וטהרתים מכל עונם אשר חטאו לי ואשר פשעו בי‬. If this passage is the background of our Qumran fragment, it would seem that the seventy years of exile decreed by God were actually a kind of period of purification, analogous to the various periods of purification prescribed by Scripture following ritual contamination. This period of time had been decreed and could not be reversed. One final passage, though relatively late, shares some of the ideas contained in the “Apocryphon of Jeremiah” passage cited earlier. It comes from the “Coptic Jeremiah”: When Jeremiah had worshipped the Lord, the voice of the Lord came to him, saying: “Have I not said to you, my chosen one, Jeremiah, do not pray for this stiff-necked people? Do you not know that I am a compassionate God? . . . [But] go into the Temple and put the lamp upon the lamp-stand of the holy place, and it shall not go out or be quenched these seventy years, until the people return to this place and fear and tremble before Me. And when you deposit the lamp, strip off the garment of prophecy

63  D. Dimant, “A Prayer for the People of Israel: on the Nature of Manuscript 4Q374,” Meghillot, 25–54. 64  In Magen Broshi et al., Discoveries in the Judaean Desert XIX: Qumran Cave 4, XIV, Parabiblical Texts Part 2 (Oxford: Clarendon, 1995) 107–108.

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and walk in sackcloth and go before the people and accompany them in captivity.65 Jeremiah’s stripping off the “garment of prophecy” and putting on sackcloth seems to have a symbolic quality: God has forbidden him to function as a traditional prophet and pray directly for divine mercy. Instead, God has ordered him to walk about in sackcloth—the latter representing the divine commission to lament (and presumably, to compose the book of Lamentations). 10

Methodological Considerations

Rather than summarizing the foregoing, I should like to end by evoking some of the methodological conclusions suggested by this brief study. In general, it is useful to start with the biblical text itself and consider the sorts of questions that it may have raised for later interpreters.66 Thus, we began with one such question: Who was the ‫ גבר‬of Lam 3:1? The answer—that this was Jeremiah, and that he was, in fact, the author of all five chapters of Lamentations— contributed to the development of a very widespread motif, “Jeremiah the Lachrymose,” evidenced, as we have seen, in a number of Qumran texts as well as in the biblical apocrypha and pseudepigrapha. Without that identification of Jeremiah as the speaker of Lamentations, would the prophet have become the lachrymose figure he did? I doubt it. Another exegetical question (though perhaps “exegetical opportunity” is closer than “question”) was the thrice65  K. H. Kuhn, Coptic Jeremiah, pp. 300–301. 66  Of course, what constitutes a “biblical text” is no simple matter, but for purposes of this brief conclusion I have left that matter aside. Procedurally, I have found it best to begin by trying to identify and name specific exegetical motifs (such as, for example, those mentioned above in connection with Jeremiah: “Ark and Tablets Saved by Jeremiah”; “Baruch Exiled to Babylon”; “Jeremiah Went to Babylon”; “Threw the Keys of the Temple to Heaven”) that appear in various texts before narrowing the focus to examine one composition in particular. Respecting the integrity of a single composition has its advantages, to be sure. But experience has taught that the same answer to an exegetical question can often be found in a broad variety of texts, so it is foolish to act as if every element in a particular composition is the product of its author’s own creativity or, for that matter, necessarily a reflection of his or her ideology. Along with this, it is important to identify the Scriptural verse or verses which the exegetical is designed to explain. At the same time, it is important sometimes to consider the opposite possibility, that a given motif is actually at odds with the biblical text, since this can reveal much about its true starting point and subsequent development.

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announced divine order to Jeremiah not to pray (Jer 7:16, 11:14, 14:11–12). In the book of Jeremiah itself, this order basically means, “Don’t bother, Jeremiah.” God is so resolute in His decision to punish Israel that even the prayers of a great prophet will not help. But this biblical message—as so often—came to be turned on its head by later interpreters. Now, God was telling Jeremiah not to pray not as a token of His resoluteness, but because, if Jeremiah did, God would be unable to resist his pleas. This exegetical idea then came to be supported by two new biblical texts, both of them happily distorted by ancient interpreters: first, the description of Jeremiah as an “iron pillar and a bronze wall” (Jer 1:17–18, along with the similar expression in Jer 15:20), which was transformed from being an assertion of Jeremiah’s invulnerability to his enemies to one of God’s inability to counter the prophet’s prayers; and second, to the idea that so long as Jeremiah was inside Jerusalem, God could not destroy the city—leading to the motif “Tricked into Leaving.” All this notwithstanding, studying Jeremiah’s post-biblical image involves more than merely charting the transformation of biblical questions into exegetical motifs. There is also the real world. In the case of Jeremiah, much of his later image was shaped in reaction to the failure of the Jewish revolt against Rome and the destruction of the Jerusalem Temple. Certainly the motif “Jeremiah the Lachrymose” gained much of its later popularity and energy from the real-life weeping that accompanied those events—which may also explain why Ben Sira, writing in the early second century BCE, showed so little interest in this great prophet. A further illustration of the way in which ancient Scripture came to interact with historical events, although it is not connected to the book of Lamentations, is that of a motif evidenced in a number of compositions mentioned above, one that might be labeled “Jeremiah’s Parting Advice.” This motif’s beginnings go back to the biblical book of Jeremiah, and among other passages, to Jeremiah’s letter to the exiles (Jeremiah 29). The idea of a prophet sending a letter with a farewell message of advice was highly contagious.67 So, long before the fall of Jerusalem to the Romans, the existence of Jeremiah’s biblical letter seems to have given rise to the transformation of what was probably an originally anonymous text into the apocryphal “Letter of Jeremiah,” in which the prophet is said to have inveighed against idol-worship. By the same token, Baruch, deemed to be exiled in Babylon,68 was represented addressing the Jerusalemites in

67  See on this D. Dimant, “4 Ezra and 2 Baruch in Light of Qumran Literature,” in M. Henze et al., Fourth Ezra and Second Baruch (Leiden: Brill, 2013) pp. 53–7. 68  Above, note 36.

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1 Baruch with some advice of his own. Soon letters followed letters,69 with more parting advice, serving the needs of post-destruction Jerusalem. Indeed, the motif “Jeremiah Went to Babylon” ultimately enabled an author to turn the tables and have Baruch—now promoted to being a quasi-prophetic figure on his own (already in Jer 45:1–5),70 indeed, even Jeremiah’s prophetic superior—offer his own advice and insights on divine justice in 2 Baruch as well as in the Paraleipomena and 3 Baruch. These, of course, were inspired by the terrible events of the Great Revolt; but rather than treat these head-on, it was already established practice to approach them through the great figures of the biblical past—hence the need to follow in these authors’ footsteps and go back to earlier Scripture. Thus, there is no escape from examining all the textual evidence available on a given biblical figure or theme (as I have tried to do herein)—starting with the biblical texts themselves, of course, but then going on to identify and name the various motifs that they may have inspired, motifs evidenced in scattered Qumran fragments, in the biblical apocrypha and pseudepigrapha, plus Hellenistic Jewish literature, the New Testament and early Christian writings, rabbinic sources, and still more. Hunting down these motifs is crucial precisely because they traveled—by word of mouth, or sometimes in writing—and so were passed on from generation to generation. As a result, it is unwise to assume that this or that element in a particular composition is the product of its author’s own creativity or, for that matter, even necessarily a reflection of his or her ideology. In a sense, the motifs themselves become quasi-Scriptural after a time, which is why they may show up in a dizzying variety of textual settings. This is true of the representation of Jeremiah and Baruch after the fall, and of a great deal more in the world of ancient biblical interpretation.

69  This is not to suggest that parting advice was necessarily epistolary. The passage seen above in 4Q385a has God issue through Jeremiah a striking bit of parting advice to the Jews in Tahpanhes: “Every day, search out My laws and ke[ep] My commandments.” 70  See in general M. Henze, Jewish Apocalypticism in the First Century (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011), esp. 87–113, 127–28.

Part 3 Early Christian and Rabbinic Literature

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chapter 40

The Reception of Jeremiah and the Impact of Jeremianic Traditions in the New Testament: A Survey* Jörg Frey At first glance, Jeremiah seems to be a prophet of minor importance for the early Jesus movement. Isaiah is far more prominent in the New Testament, is extensively used as a source of ideas and texts, is mentioned as the author of quotations, and occasionally also as a prophetic figure. Daniel and Ezekiel, the “specialists” for various aspects of the end times, are far more influential, at least for the development of particular ideas. As a prophetic figure, Elijah is most prominent, being mentioned thirty times in the New Testament. Thus— in view of explicit references to the names1 and also to the number of citations and references, as given, for example in the Nestle-Aland edition and its index of loci citati vel allegati2—the first impression is that Jeremiah is relatively unimportant in the NT. But the first impression may be wrong, and the question should be analyzed more thoroughly by distinguishing between direct quotations and the influence of particular motifs, and of course between different New Testament authors. In the present survey, I will first discuss the explicit quotations and references that occur only in the Gospel of Matthew (1), then briefly look at the dense use of Jeremiah’s oracles against Babylon in Revelation (2), and finally focus on the motif of the “new covenant,” as adopted in Paul and his eucharistic tradition (3) and, more programmatically, in Hebrews (4). Some general *  Paper presented at the Monte Veritá conference and only slightly expanded. I am quite grateful to Prof. Dr. Adela Yarbro Collins, Dr. Benjamin Schließer, Veronika Niederhofer, and Andrew Bowden for various suggestions and corrections. 1  Isaiah is mentioned 22 times, Jeremiah 3 times, Daniel only once, Ezekiel never, but Elijah 30 times. 2  Cf. simply the length of the respective sections in the list of the loci citati vel allegati: Isaiah: almost 8 columns; Jeremiah and Ezekiel: less than 4 columns each; Daniel (which is much shorter): 3 columns. It may be a coincidence, but the same observation can be made for the Dead Sea Scrolls, where we have no pesher commentary on Jeremiah, and the number of manuscripts preserved is considerably smaller compared with Isaiah, Ezekiel, Daniel, and the Twelve Prophets.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���7 | doi ��.��63/9789004320253_041

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remarks on the reception of Jeremiah in the New Testament will conclude the paper (5). 1

Jeremiah as Prophetic Figure in Matthew’s Reception

The only three direct references to Jeremiah in the NT are all found in the Gospel of Matthew.3 This is not all that astonishing, as Matthew is particularly concerned with linking the Jesus story with biblical prophecy. The use of fulfilment quotations in the Gospel’s narrative design serves to present the Jesus story from the beginning as a continuation and fulfilment of the history of Israel.4 Of the ten complete formulaic introductions of fulfilment quotations,5 four mention Isaiah as the author, two refer to Jeremiah, whereas the other four simply point to “the prophet” without providing a specific name. Thus, Jeremiah is of particular interest to Matthew, along with Isaiah and a number of other “prophets” such as Hosea, Zechariah, etc., which he quotes but does not refer to by name. Jeremiah, the author of the saying about Rachel’s lament (Jer 31:15), is the first prophet mentioned by name in Matthew.6 This text is quoted in Matt 2:17–18, right after the narration about Herod killing the infants in Bethlehem and its vicinity. Jeremiah is mentioned again in the last fulfilment quotation in Matt 27:9–10, where a quotation from Zech 11:12–13 with some supplements from Jeremiah (cf. Jer 18:1–3 and Jer 32:6–15) is somewhat improperly attributed to Jeremiah. Perhaps the most striking reference to Jeremiah is in the disciples’ report about the people’s views of Jesus (Matt 16:14): “Some say he is John the Baptist, others that he is Elijah, others Jeremiah or one of the prophets.” Because the words ἕτεροι δὲ Ἰερεμίαν are not found in Mark, it is

3  On the reception of Jeremiah in Matthew, see especially Michael Knowles, Jeremiah in Matthew’s Gospel: The Rejected-Prophet Motif in Matthaean Redaction (JSNTSup 68; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1993). 4  On Matthew as a “rewritten” history of Israel, see most recently Franz Tóth, Exodusdiskurse im Matthäusevangelium: Studien zur Exodusrezeption im Matthäusevangelium vor dem Hintergrund biblischer und frühjüdischer Schriftdiskurse (Habilitationsschrift, Zürich 2014; WUNT; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, forthcoming). 5  Matt 1:22; 2:15, 17, 23; 4:14; 8:17; 12:17; 13:35; 21:4; 27:9. 6  The references and quotations in Matt 1:22–23 (Isa 7:14 LXX); 2:5–6 (Hos 5:1, 3) and 2:15 (Hos 11:1) do not mention a name, but only refer to “the prophet.”

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usually suggested that the mention of Jeremiah is “a redactional addition.”7 In any case, the insertion shows a particular interest in Jeremiah. How can we interpret these references to Jeremiah? Does Jeremiah simply happen to be the author of the cited text? Is he merely “one of the prophets”? Or does the author of Matthew link particular notions or even eschatological functions with the figure of Jeremiah? Does he consider Jeremiah as the prophet of doom and judgment, or rather as a pattern of the rejected prophet?8 Should we even see a thoroughgoing analogy between Jeremiah and Jesus, as W. D. Davies and Dale Allison have suggested in their commentary? Both “were prophets of judgement and spoke against the temple,” and notably “both were figures of suffering, and both were martyrs.”9 To support that idea, the two authors point to other alleged borrowings from Jeremiah in a number of sayings of Jesus, but not all of them are clear enough to support such a wideranging analogy between Jesus and Jeremiah.10 The clearest quotation occurs in the invitation in Matt 11:29–30, which adopts a phrase from Jer 6:16 LXX; “You will find rest for your souls.” But the precise wording in Matthew differs from the LXX (ἁγνισμόν: “purification”), and reads in accord with the Hebrew text ἀνάπαυσιν (“rest”).11 In order to explain this, one either assumes influence from the Hebrew (on the level of Matthew’s redaction or on an earlier level of the tradition), or takes into consideration that there was another Greek version closer to the Hebrew text. Other possible references to Jeremiah are less prominent: The saying in Matt 7:22 about prophesying in Jesus’ name alludes to the motif of false prophets in Jeremiah (cf. Jer 14:14 and 27:15), which is, however, more widespread in the late first century Jesus movement. In the episode of the cleansing of the temple, the term “bandit’s cave” (Matt 21:13) is adopted from Jer 7:11, but more prominent is the preceding quotation from Isa 56:7. The motif of the rejection of the prophets in Matt 23:34–35 may draw on Jer 7:25–26, but the climax set by Matthew is the death of Zechariah ben Berekiah from 2 Chr 24:20–22, i.e., not an episode from 7  William D. Davies and Dale C. Allison, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Gospel according to Saint Matthew (3 vols.; ICC; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1988–1997), 2:618. 8  The thorough monograph by Knowles (Jeremiah in Matthew’s Gospel) especially expounds these elements within the context of a Deuteronomistic view of history presupposed for Matthew. 9  Cf. Davies and Allison, Matthew, 2:619. According to Knowles (Jeremiah, 265) Jesus is presented in Matthew as a “suffering and rejected ‘prophet-like-Jeremiah.’ ” 10  Cf. Davies and Allison, Matthew, 2:619 and the more extensive analysis of those (and some more) allusions in Knowles, Jeremiah, 162–222. 11  Cf. Davies and Allison, Matthew, 2:291.

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Jeremiah. Finally, in the eucharistic words in Matt 26:28, the phrase “my blood of the covenant” differs remarkably from Jer 31:31–34, adopting (from Mark) the wording of Exod 24:8 so that it seems inappropriate to interpret the reference to the διαθήκη too easily in terms of Jeremiah’s prophecy of the new covenant.12 Thus, Matthew’s allusions to Jeremiah are rather limited and do not have a prominent function. Therefore, we should focus on the three explicit references to Jeremiah, including two quotation formulae: Rachel’s Lament about the Exiled People, and the Recapitulation of Israel’s History in Jesus The first quotation from Jeremiah in Matt 2:17–18 concludes the narration of Herod’s murder of Bethlehem’s children,13 a first attack against the life and work of Jesus the Messiah, occurring long before his passion. In Matthew, where the whole Jesus story is presented with biblical fulfilment quotations, even the suffering of the infant Jesus is presented in accord with the Scriptures.14 But there are a number of problems. Leaving aside the geographical issue of Ramah and Bethlehem,15 we can observe that Jer 31:15 is the only negative verse in a chapter that otherwise focused on comfort, restoration, and, of course, the new covenant. So the question arises as to whether the readers should also consider the subsequent consolation of Rachel (Jer 31:16) or the context of the whole 1.1

12  The interpretation by Knowles (Jeremiah, 207–9) and by many commentators seems overly harmonizing. The idea of the new covenant is not present in Mark or Matthew, but only in Paul and Luke’s version of the eucharistic words, whereas the aspect that the covenant is made by blood, taken from Exod 24:8 but missing in Jer 31:31–34, is not mentioned in Paul and Luke. The notion of the forgiveness of sins, however, which is of course an important part of Jer 31:31–34 (and even more in the LXX), is far too common in early Christianity to support an argument for the particular influence of Jer 31 on Matt 26:28. 13  Tóth, Exodusdiskurse, 152–301 has demonstrated convincingly that the textual structure of Matthew 1–2 is shaped by the combination of diegesis (narration) and exegesis (scriptural quotation or interpretation). 14  Interestingly, the introduction does not use the form ἵνα πληρωθῇ (as in 2:15), but τότε ἐπληρώθη, so as to avoid the notion of a negative intentionality of the Scriptures. The same formulation can be observed in Matt 27:9, where the story and hanging of Judas is concluded by the other quotation attributed to Jeremiah. 15  Ramah is not simply Bethlehem, so the quotation does not easily prove the providential character of the incident there. Knowles (Jeremiah, 45–46) suggests that in this passage Matthew deliberately conflates two local traditions about Rachel’s tomb. Moreover, he affirms that Herod’s command was not only carried out in Bethlehem, but also in all its environs (2:16), in order to fit the tradition of Rachel’s tomb south of Jerusalem, on the way to Ephrath (Gen 35:19; 48:7). See also Tóth, Exodusdiskurse, 242–48.

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chapter?16 However, all those positive ideas are totally absent in the Matthean context.17 Why does Matthew quote this verse and mention Rachel, Ramah, and Jeremiah? In Jeremiah, Rachel’s lament is for the descendants of Ephraim (Jer 31:6, 9, 18, 20), i.e., the exiled people of the northern kingdom, but in Jer 40:1 the same Ramah is the place where the captives of Jerusalem are gathered to go to Babylon in exile. Moreover, according to Jer 39:14 and 40:16, Jeremiah accompanied the exiles on their way to Babylon only as far as Ramah and then returned to Jerusalem to accompany others to Egypt at a later time (Jer 43–44). In Matthew’s birth stories, Jesus’ beginnings are told as a kind of recapitulation of Israel’s history.18 The child Jesus is exiled to Egypt and then called back from there (Matt 2:15; in fulfilment of Hos 11:1). Not only the story of Israel in Egypt and the exodus story, but also the later experience of the exile are considered prefigurations of certain aspects of the life and ministry of the Messiah Jesus, who acts in fulfilment of biblical prophecy. Thus, Rachel’s lament can also be read as the lament for the Messiah, whose life is attacked, although not by foreign rulers but by Jewish authorities. 16  See especially C. H. Dodd, According to the Scriptures: The Sub-Structure of New Testament Theology (London: Nisbet, 1952), 44–46. Such an interpretation was also common in contemporary Judaism, cf. Mekilta on Exod 12:1 (see Davies and Allison, Matthew, 1:269, and Knowles, Jeremiah, 39, with additional reference to early Synagogal readings in the context of Rosh Hashanah). 17  Scholars have suggested that additional elements in Matthew 1–2 might be read on the background of Jeremiah 31, but again the links are relatively dispersed and far-fetched. Cf. the summary in Davies and Allison, Matthew, 1:267: “The one who returns to Israel is called a ‘virgin’ (vv. 4, 21; cf. Mt 1.23) and ‘my dear son . . . my darling child’ (v. 20; cf. Mt 2.15; 3.17; 17.5). In v. 9 God declares, ‘I am a father to Israel, and Ephraim is my first-born’ (cf. Mt 11.25–7). Among those who return from exile is ‘the woman with child’ (v. 8; cf. Mt 2.11, 14, 20, 21). We further read that ‘the Lord has saved his people’ (v. 7, LXX: ἔσωσεν κύριος τὸν λαὸν αὐτοῦ; cf. Mt 1.22), that ‘your children shall come back to their own country’ (v. 17; cf. Mt 2.19–23), that God fixed ‘the stars for light by night’ (v. 35; cf. Mt 2.1–12), that those who hunger and thirst will be filled (v. 25; cf. Mt 5.6), and that God will establish a new covenant with his people (vv. 31–3; cf. Mt 26.28).” It is questionable, however, whether Jer 31:4, 21 are actually to be associated with Matt 1:23, where another scriptural passage (Isa 7:14) is explicitly quoted. The Father-Son imagery (e.g., in Matt 11:25–27) is far too widespread in early Christianity so as to be attributed precisely to Jer 31:9. Jer 31:8 MT mentions a woman giving birth (LXX 31:8 differs and mentions the birth of a multitude). On Matt 26:28 see above n. 11. Thus, the number of possible references is less impressive and certainly not sufficient for establishing the whole chapter as a prominent background for reading Matthew 1–2. 18  Cf. Tóth, Exodusdiskurse, 307–9.

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Considering that the phrase explaining Jesus’ name (i.e., “he will rescue his people from their sins,” Matt 1:21) recalls a passage from the same chapter (LXX Jer 38:7: ἔσωσεν κύριος τὸν λαὸν αὐτοῦ), we can assume that the hope for restoration is not totally unnoticed in Matthew’s quotation of Rachel’s lament. The mention of Jeremiah, therefore, also points to the hope for restoration, or rather salvation, as promised in Jeremiah and considered to be fulfilled together with other scriptural prophesies in the story of Jesus, who will save his people from their sins. But it is still remarkable that the aspect of covenant from the same chapter is not mentioned in this context and should therefore not be conjectured too easily here.19 In the subtle “rewriting” of Israel’s history in the programmatic opening of Matthew’s Gospel, the incidents from Jeremiah’s story are present alongside expectations of renewal and salvation from sins. It is, therefore, no coincidence that the evangelist explicitly mentions Jeremiah here next to Isaiah,20 whose words still seem somewhat more prominent than those of Jeremiah. 1.2 Jeremianic Motifs in a Murky Quotation from Zechariah Towards the end of the Gospel in the last fulfilment quotation, Jeremiah is mentioned again as the author of a mixed quotation commenting on the end of Judas.21 However, the primary source of the quotation in Matt 27:9–10 is Zech 11:13, a verse from a chapter traditionally associated with Jesus’ passion and already adopted in Matt 26:15. In that murky chapter, the shepherd doomed to be slaughtered (v. 7) is paid a wage of “thirty shekels of silver” for his service and then told to throw the money to “the molder” (‫—)אל־היוצר‬a word that can also be translated as “the potter.” Scholars have debated extensively over why Matthew refers to Jeremiah as the author of the quotation.22 But before simply assuming a confusion of

19  We should also be cautious about introducing the covenantal aspects from the eucharistic words in Matthew, because in Matthew’s version of the eucharistic words (26:28) the motif of the covenant is not shaped according to Jer 31:31 but according to Exod 24:8. Thus, there is a covenantal aspect but it is not linked with Jeremiah. Furthermore, apart from the Eucharist scene, the motif of the covenant is never mentioned in Matthew. 20  Isaiah is quoted earlier rather prominently (in Matt 1:23; cf. Isa 7:14 LXX), but without being mentioned by name. Jeremiah is the first prophet mentioned in the quotation formulae. Isaiah is then mentioned again in Matt 4:14–16 (where Isa 9:1–2 is quoted). 21  As in 2:17, the formula ἵνα πληρωθῇ is avoided and replaced by τότε ἐπληρώθη. 22  See the list of suggestions in Davies and Allison, Matthew, 3:568–69.

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memory23 or the background of an unknown apocryphal text,24 we can note that there are some verbal links between Zech 11:12–13 and Jeremiah:25 The keywords “potter” and “silver” could establish a link with Jeremiah, although the different motifs of potter, purchase, field, and silver are not connected with Jeremiah.26 Nevertheless, the murky passage from Zechariah could appear as a conflation of Jeremianic motifs that appeared to be fulfilled in the story of Judas. We should also consider that the figure of Jeremiah is much more prominent than Zechariah, who is quoted several times in the New Testament but never mentioned by name. But it is uncertain whether the mention of Jeremiah should be further interpreted in terms of the image of the prophet or of the content of his prophecy, which is focused on rejection and persecution. As in Matt 2:17–18, it is true that Jeremiah is mentioned in connection with a negative event (the deadly opposition to the Messiah), but we should not too easily conclude from these two quotations that Jeremiah was primarily considered a “prophet of doom and sorrow.”27 Such a characterization is probably too negative, not only in view of the hope for renewal as expressed, for example, in Jer 31, but also in view of the Jeremiah traditions in first century Judaism. These traditions should be considered when we look at the third Matthean passage that mentions Jeremiah—the only which is not connected with a quotation: In Matt 16:14 Jeremiah is included in the line of (eschatological) figures, with which Jesus might be identified: John the Baptist, Elijah, Jeremiah, and “one of the prophets.” 1.3 Jeremiah’s Life, Legends, and Eschatological Expectations The fact that Matthew’s version of the pericope is the only one that inserts Jeremiah is remarkable (par. Mark 8:28 and Luke 9:19). This may at least

23  Krister Stendahl, The School of St. Matthew and Its Use of the Old Testament: With a New Introduction by the Author (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1968), 123. 24  Georg Strecker, Der Weg der Gerechtigkeit: Untersuchung zur Theologie des Matthäus (FRLANT 82; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1962), 80–81, but some church fathers, such as Origen and Jerome in their commentaries, also offer this suggestion. 25  Davies and Allison, Matthew, 3:569 n. 49, 3:571. 26  Cf. Donald A. Hagner, Matthew (2 vols.; WBC 33A-B; Dallas: Word, 1993–1995), 2:813. See the precise analysis in Davies and Allison, Matthew, 3:569–71: Jer 18:2–6 mentions a potter; Jer 19:1–15 a purchase (v. 1), the valley of Hinnom (v. 2), innocent blood (v. 4) and the renaming of a place for a burial (vv. 6, 11), and Jer 32:6–15 describes the purchase of a field with silver. 27  Davies and Allison, Matthew, 1:267.

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confirm that Matthew was interested in Jeremiah,28 although the mention of his name does not necessarily cohere with a particular conception of the prophet. It could also reflect traditions alive in Matthew’s community,29 and it might suggest that Jeremiah was considered a figure “who would play a role in the coming of the eschaton.”30 But which role would he play there? Was there an expectation of his return, as was the case for Elijah (cf. Mal 3:23–24; Sir 48:10)? How could Jeremiah be associated with the events of restoration? Here we must briefly consider aspects of the contemporary image of Jeremiah: In Second Temple Judaism, Jeremiah was remembered as a prophet particularly linked with the fate of the temple, the exile, and also the end of the exile. Jeremiah is mentioned in the closing chapter of Chronicles (2 Chr 36). His prophecy of the seventy years (Jer 25:11; 29:10) inspired later chronological speculation (cf. Dan 9:24: Seventy weeks of years),31 and his announcement of a new covenant (Jer 31:31–34) strongly inspired the hope for restoration (although not every hope for restoration or a covenant is primarily related to that chapter32). Numerous extra-biblical traditions and works demonstrate a vivid interest in Jeremiah.33 In Ben Sira’s “praise of the fathers,” the fall of 28  Thus Craig A. Evans, Matthew (NCBC; New York: Cambridge University Press, 2012), 312. Other prophets, such as Isaiah, Jonah, or Daniel, could also called “one of the prophets.” 29  We should not mechanically assume that all expansions of Matthew’s sources are simply redactional. 30  Hagner, Matthew, 2:467. 31  Cf. especially Dan 9; see Christian Wolff, Jeremia im Frühjudentum und Urchristentum (TUGAL 118; Berlin: Akademie-Verlag, 1976), 100–16. 32  Thus, the mention of an “eternal covenant” in Bar 2:35 is influenced by Deuteronomy rather than by Jer 31:31, and the concept of an “everlasting covenant” was more widespread (Ps 105:10; Isa 55:3; 61:8; Jer 32:40; Ezek 16:60; 37:26; see Knowles, Jeremiah, 260). On the other hand, CD 6:19; 8:21, and 20:12 with the mention of a “new covenant in the land of Damascus” can be considered a (very particular) reception of Jer 31:31–34 in which the group represented here (the yahad or part of it) considered itself as the people of that “new covenant.” 33  Cf., from Qumran, the fragments of probably two works (4QApocryphon of Jeremiah A = 4Q383 and 4QApocryphon of Jeremiah C = 4Q385a, 387, 388a, 389, 390, 387a), which are, however, quite fragmentary (see Devorah Dimant [ed.], Qumran Cave 4 XXI: Parabiblical Texts, Part 4: Pseudo-Prophetic Texts [DJD 30; Oxford: Clarendon, 2001], 91–259) and the reference to Jeremiah’s words in CD 8:20; cf. furthermore the fragments in Eupolemus (in Eusebius, Praep. ev. 9.39.5), the traditions in 2 Macc 2 and 15 and in the books of Baruch, Epistula Ieremiae, Paralipomena Jeremiou (= 4 Baruch), and 2 Baruch. For further details cf. especially Wolff, Jeremia im Frühjudentum und Urchristentum, and Ernst Dassmann,

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Jerusalem is even said to be caused by the mistreatment of Jeremiah (Sir 49:7), whereas other traditions maintain that Jerusalem could only be destroyed after Jeremiah had left the city (2 Bar. 2:1; 4 Bar. 1:1–3), so that Jeremiah appears as a powerful intercessor.34 Josephus, writing in the time of Matthew, was convinced that Jeremiah had also written about the capture under Titus.35 Especially Jeremiah’s life story was expanded in various ways. Whereas according to the biblical account he did not go to Babylon but finally went to Egypt (Jer 43–44), there are traditions about his ministry to the people in the Babylonian exile.36 Contrary to earlier speculation, this is not yet true for the Jeremiah Apocryphon C from Qumran (4Q385a 18ab I 6–7), which says that Jeremiah went with the people until a certain river and instructed them how to keep God’s covenant in Babylon. Only later traditions report that he actually went there. Various traditions further report how he “saved” and hid the holy vessels, the ark of the covenant, and even the holy fire in order to become a guarantee of continuity between the First and the Second Temple37 or to have a certain eschatological function: The Hellenistic Jewish author Eupolemus (mid second century bce) narrates that Jeremiah managed to preserve the ark and the tablets of the law stored in it.38 Most interesting is 2 Maccabees, which appeals to “written records”39 of Jeremiah instructing the captives to take some fire from the altar; the fire was then preserved in a miraculous manner for the Second Temple (Jeremiah, cf. 2 Macc 2:1 with 1:18–36). The legend obviously has a legitimatizing function for the Second Temple. But 2 Maccabees further recounts that Jeremiah took the holy tent, the ark, and the incense altar to Mt. Nebo, where Moses had seen “the inheritance of God” (2:4). Jeremiah hid these in a cave so that even his companions did not know the way to the place. Consequently, they are still hidden and the expectation is established that the vessels “Jeremia,” RAC 17:543–631 (esp. 544–58) and the editions of and commentaries on the works mentioned. 34  Cf. Knowles, Jeremiah, 250, with further rabbinic references. 35  Josephus, Ant. 10.79. 36  Cf., e.g., 2 Bar. 10:1–5 and 4 Bar. 3:15 for the idea that Jeremiah actually accompanied the exiled people to Babylon, but the tradition is already presupposed in the Jeremiah Apocryphon from Qumran (s. above). 37  Thus in 2 Macc 1:18–2:3. 38  Eupolemus, in Eusebius, Praep. ev. 9.39.5 (OTP 2:871). 39  This suggests that there were some writings dealing with or ascribed to Jeremiah. Such a tradition ultimately goes back to the letter of Jeremiah from Jeremiah 29.

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should only be shown forth when the glory of God is again revealed as in the time of Moses and Solomon (2:7–8). Thus, Jeremiah not only creates a link with the temple and the eschatological renewal but also with Moses and Solomon.40 Although Jeremiah is not expected to appear in the end times, he is an eschatological prophet who “points to when the holy objects will be brought back to the land and a temple.”41 Furthermore, 2 Macc 15:13–15 presents Jeremiah as a heavenly intercessor for the people who can give Judas a golden sword to beat the enemies. Most of these traditions were further developed in later texts (partially reworked by Christians). In the Lives of the Prophets, Jeremiah is presented as a martyr who is stoned by the people in Egypt,42 as a powerful “saint” whose prayer helped the Egyptians against serpents and crocodiles.43 In this text he is also the author of a Messianic prophecy, according to which the idols will all collapse in the end.44 Yet again we find the legend that Jeremiah took the ark of the covenant before the destruction of the temple, and that it is now hidden in a rock until it will rise in the time of the resurrection and is established on Mt. Sinai.45 In the Lives we have an Egyptian version of the Jeremiah legend, certainly Jewish in its essence, in marked contrast to the Palestinian versions with Jeremiah active in the Babylonian golah. But as in 2 Maccabees, Jeremiah is closely connected with Moses:46 The vita ends with the remark that Moses and Jeremiah are “together until today.”47 This analogy is reinforced in the Paralipomena Jeremiou and in later texts that descibe the exile in analogy to the captivity in Egypt and Jeremiah as a “Second Moses.”

40  The meaning of that story in the context of 2 Maccabees is explained by Robert Doran, 2 Maccabees: A Critical Commentary (Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2012), 57: “That they are not in the Second Temple is thus no fault of the returnees under Cyrus but of the priests of the First Temple. Now the appearance of these holy objects is to be delayed until an event like that in the wilderness and that of the founding of the First Temple.” 41  Doran, 2 Maccabees, 57. 42   Vitae Prophetarum 21. 43  Ibid., 2.3–6. 44  Ibid., 2.7. Cf. Anna Maria Schwemer, Studien zu den frühjüdischen Prophetenlegenden Vitae prophetarum: Einleitung, Übersetzung und Kommentar (2 vols.; TSAJ 49–50; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1995–1996), 1:195–96. 45   Vitae Prophetarum 2.9–13. 46  Cf. Wolff, Jeremia im Frühjudentum und Urchristentum, 79–80. Jeremiah is connected with Mt. Nebo and the glory of God; his miracles are powerful against serpents (cf. Num 21:4–9). 47   Vitae Prophetarum 2.15.

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The survey could easily be augmented with numerous later Christian apocryphal and rabbinic texts, but for the present purpose it suffices to show that the mention of Jeremiah among the eschatological figures in Matt 16:14 could draw on a vivid Jewish tradition of Jeremiah as a prophet of the eschatological restoration. It cannot be ascertained if there was already the hope for a return of Jeremiah because the reference in 5 Ezra 2:18 to the sending of Isaiah, Jeremiah, and Daniel may be a Christian development. Nevertheless, in view of the traditions available to Matthew and his community, Jeremiah could easily be placed next to Elijah and the forerunner John the Baptist, not merely as “one of the prophets,” but as the one who was considered to be closely connected with Moses and strongly associated with the events of eschatological restoration. 1.4 Jeremiah in Matthew—A Multifaceted Image of Reception In view of these considerations, the image of Jeremiah in Matthew is less coherent than some scholars have suggested. Matthew does not simply fit the “Deuteronomistic” view of history in which Jeremiah could serve as a pattern for the rejected prophet because in Matthew’s Gospel the element of rejection is not the final and decisive element of the story of Jesus, who saves his people from sins and, as the risen one, ultimately wields power over heaven and earth (Matt 28:18–20). Nor can Jeremiah be considered a pattern for the fate of Jesus, since the suffering of the innocent one—a motif already adopted from Mark—is thoroughly interpreted in terms of its salvific effects. Of course Jeremiah’s words against the temple could be read afresh after the destruction of the second temple, but his words of lament and judgment were now intertwined with the promise of restoration or even more with salvation from sins, both of which were considered to be fulfilled in the story of the Messiah Jesus. The leading motif of the reference to Jeremiah in Matthew is, therefore, neither the motif of doom and judgment nor the notion of the new covenant, but rather the view that all Scriptures—not only those of Jeremiah, but also Isaiah and the other prophets—were now fulfilled in Jesus’ work and fate. 2

Jeremiah’s Oracles against Babylon as Adopted by the Author of Revelation

In this second, shorter section we look at the very different manner in which Jeremiah and other prophetic writings are adopted in Revelation, a book composed at roughly the same time as Matthew. In contrast to Matthew, however,

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we do not find any explicit quotations of biblical writings in Revelation, although the book is full of scriptural allusions, mostly to the prophets. Daniel and Ezekiel are most prominent, “although in terms of actual number of allusions Isaiah is first, followed by Ezekiel, Daniel, and Psalms,”48 Jeremiah, however, is alluded to less frequently, and as a result there is still no scholarly investigation dedicated to the use of Jeremiah’s words,49 whereas monographs have been written on Daniel, Ezekiel, Isaiah, and Zechariah in Revelation.50 The figure of Jeremiah and his biography are not in view,51 but the same is true of all biblical prophets. Only their words and visions serve as sources for the new bricolage composed by the author52 whose work claims to be a summation or “the climax of prophecy.”53

48  Gregory K. Beale, The Book of Revelation: A Commentary on the Greek Text (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Paternoster, 1999), 77. See also the statistics in Steve Moyise, The Old Testament in the Book of Revelation (JSNTSup 115; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1995), 15–16. 49  But cf. Wolff, Jeremia im Frühjudentum und Urchristentum, 166–74 and the contribution by Adela Yarbro Collins in the present volume. 50  Jan Fekkes III, Isaiah and Prophetic Traditions in the Book of Revelation: Visionary Antecedents and Their Development (JSNTSup 93; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1994); Jean-Pierre Ruiz, Ezekiel in the Apocalypse: The Transformation of Prophetic Language in Revelation 16,17–19,10 (Europäische Hochschulschriften 23.376; Frankfurt: Lang, 1989); Beate Kowalski, Die Rezeption des Propheten Ezechiel in der Offenbarung des Johannes (SBB 52; Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 2004); Gregory K. Beale, The Use of Daniel in Jewish Apocalyptic Literature and in the Revelation of St. John (Lanham: University Press of America, 1984); Marko Jauhiainen, The Use of Zechariah in Revelation (WUNT 2/199; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2005). 51  It has been suggested that one of the two prophets measuring the Temple in Rev 11:1– 14 might be Jeremiah (cf. Paolo B.-S. Min, I due Testimoni di Apocalisse 11,1–13: Storia— Interpretazione—Teologia [Rome: Pontificia universitas Gregoriana, 1991], 129–32). One argument could be that the metaphor of words as fire (Jer 5:14) might be transformed to the visionary image of fire from the mouth of the prophets (Rev 11:5). There is, in fact, a similar transformation of a metaphor from Isa 49:2 (“He made my mouth like a sharp sword”) in Rev 1:16 (“a sharp double-edged sword projected from his mouth”), but the allusion is insufficient to identify one of the witnesses with Jeremiah. Scholarship generally considers them to represent Enoch and Elijah; cf. the list of suggestions in David E. Aune, Revelation (3 vols.; WBC 52A–C; Dallas: Word; Nashville: Nelson, 1997–1998), 2:598–603. 52  On the images of Revelation as mosaic or bricolage from OT texts see Jörg Frey, “Die Bildersprache der Johannesapokalypse,” ZTK 98 (2001): 161–85. 53  Thus the title of Richard Bauckham’s The Climax of Prophecy: Studies in the Book of Revelation (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1993).

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Even in the apocalyptic imagery and the words of judgment, there are merely a few allusions to Jeremiah.54 In one passage (Rev 17–18), however, there is a very extensive adoption of ideas from Jeremiah, and almost half of the allusions noted in Nestle-Aland’s index occur within that context, which, describing the fall of Babylon and the lament concerning it, draws quite heavily on Jeremiah’s oracle against Babylon in Jer 50–51.55 From this evidence we cannot conclude that the author did not have the entire book at his disposal, but only a collection of testimonia,56 and although several authors have suggested that Rev 17–18 draws on earlier written sources or fragments, this cannot sufficiently explain the precise utilization of Jeremiah. The use of Jeremiah in Rev 17–18 is quite impressive. Oracles against Babylon are used to describe the new Babylon, Rome, and its fall, and thus the references to Jer 50–51 are combined with references to other oracles against Babylon from Isa 21 and 47. The lament songs in Rev 18 are particularly inspired from the oracles against Tyre (from Isa 23 and Ezek 26–27), which could be linked with Rome at least in the later rabbinic tradition.57 On the other hand, references to Jer 50–51 do not occur in any other part of Revelation, but only in the section on Babylon. 54  See also the list of passages in R. H. Charles, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Revelation of St. John (2 vols.; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1920) 1:lxii–lxxxvi. Most interesting are Rev 2:23 (based on Jer 17:10); Rev 13:10 (based on Jer 15:2), and, perhaps, the “springs of living water” in Rev 7:17 (based on Jer 2:13). 55  Cf. Wolff, Jeremia im Frühjudentum und Urchristentum, 167–69; Aune, Revelation, 3:983, who identifies the following parallels: Rev 17:1c—Jer 51:13 (LXX 28:13) Rev 17:2b—Jer 51:7 (LXX 28:7) Rev 17:4b—Jer 51:7 (LXX 28:7) Rev 18:2a—Isa 21:9 + Jer 51:8 (LXX 28:8) Rev 18:2b—Jer 51:37 (LXX 28:37) Rev 18:3—Jer 51:7 (LXX 28:7); cf. Jer 25:15, 17 (LXX 32:15, 17) Rev 18:4—Jer 51:6 (LXX 28:6) Rev 18:5—Jer 51:9 (LXX 28:9) Rev 18:6a—Jer 50:29b (LXX 27:29b); cf. Jer 16:18 Rev 18:20—Jer 51:48 (not in LXX) Rev 18:21—Jer 51:64 (LXX 28:64) Rev 18:22c–23b—Jer 25:10 Rev 18:23b—Jer 7:34; 16:9; 25:10; 33:11; cf. Bar 2:23 Rev 18:24—Jer 51:49 (LXX 28:49) 56  Thus the suggestion by Wolff, Jeremia im Frühjudentum und Urchristentum, 172. There is rather the question whether Rev 17–18 is composed from existing sources (see Aune, Revelation, 3:984). 57  Cf. Wolff, Jeremia im Frühjudentum und Urchristentum, 170.

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Thus, we can conclude that the author of Revelation considered Jeremiah particularly interesting as the author of prophecies against Babylon, which was now linked with Rome (as was the fourth kingdom of Dan 7). The exodus from Babylon called for in Rev 18:4 is, however, not an exodus to a restored earthly Jerusalem but the separation from the idolatrous society of the Roman Empire that shall be rewarded in the end with citizenship in the New Jerusalem. Yet, those images are inspired by texts from Isaiah, Ezekiel, and other sources, but not from Jeremiah.58 3

Jeremianic Motifs and the New Covenant in Paul

A study of Jeremiah’s influence in the NT would be incomplete without a discussion of Paul. There is considerable debate whether Paul’s prophetic selfconcept, e.g. in Gal 1:15–16, is shaped by the commissioning of Jeremiah (Jer 1:5–8), or—in light of the mission to the Gentiles—rather by other biblical texts, such as Deutero-Isaiah (Isa 49:1, 5).59 Since these aspects are discussed in another contribution in the present volume,60 I limit myself to other Pauline texts for which a Jeremianic background has been suggested and then focus on the motif of the new covenant. It is quite striking that Paul never explicitly quotes from Jeremiah.61 Scholars have considered Jeremiah as the source for a number of phrases, but there are always similar passages from other books, making the direct influence of Jeremiah hard to ascertain. 3.1 Boasting or Not Boasting—A Jeremianic Theme in 1–2 Corinthians? One of the best candidates for a Pauline reference to Jeremiah is the quotation in 1 Cor 1:31 (ὁ καυχώμενος ἐν κυρίῳ καυχάσθω), which is used again (yet without a quotation formula) in 2 Cor 10:17. The problem is that the quotation in 58  On the scriptural background of Rev 21 see Enno Edzard Popkes, “Vollendete Gottes­ gegenwart,” in Die Johannesapokalypse: Kontexte—Konzepte—Rezeption (eds. Jörg Frey, James A. Kelhoffer, and Franz Tóth; WUNT 287; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2012), 235–57, and P. Lee, The New Jerusalem in the Book of Revelation: A Study of Revelation 21–22 in the Light of its Background in Jewish Tradition (WUNT 2/129; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2001). 59  Cf. Karl Olav Sandnes, Paul—One of the Prophets? A Contribution to the Apostle’s SelfUnderstanding (WUNT 2/43; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1991), 61–64. 60  Cf. the paper by Lutz Doering in the present volume. 61  Cf. Dietrich-Alex Koch, Die Schrift als Zeuge des Evangeliums: Untersuchungen zur Verwendung und zum Verständnis der Schrift bei Paulus (BHT 69; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1986), 21–24 and 33. The same is true for Ezekiel and Daniel.

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1 Cor 1:31 is not attributed to Jeremiah and is—at best—a contraction of Jer 9:23. There has been extensive debate concerning whether Paul draws on an apocryphal saying or on a proverbial saying from oral tradition.62 According to Jer 9:22 the wise (σοφός), the powerful (ἰσχυρός), and the rich (πλούσιος) are not to boast in their wisdom, power, or wealth. This corresponds impressively with Paul’s phrase in 1 Cor 1:26 according to which God, in his own wisdom (cf. 1:18–25), has called not many wise (σοφοί), strong (δυνατοί), and noble (εὐγενεῖς), “so that no one should boast before God” (1:29). Admittedly, the specific terms differ between Jeremiah LXX and Paul, but the number and sequence are the same and the negative intention “not to boast” is adopted in 1:29 before the positive phrase about the true boasting (as expressed in Jer 9:23) is used as an effective closure of the paragraph (1:31). The saying is introduced as a quotation (καθὼς γέγραπται), although the wording does not exactly match any biblical phrase and is probably a contraction of Jer 9:23. There are, however, good reasons for contracting the lengthy phrase ἐν τούτῳ καυχάσθω ὁ καυχώμενος συνίειν καὶ γινώσκειν ὅτι ἐγώ εἰμι κύριος from Jer 9:23 into the more precise and effective form ὁ καυχώμενος ἐν κυρίῳ καυχάσθω.63 Thus, Jer 9:22–23 is the background of not only the proverbial closure in 1 Cor 1:31 but of the whole paragraph 1:26–31.64 Interestingly, Jer 9:22–23 is also inserted (with slightly different wording) into the song of Hannah in the LXX version of 1 Sam 2:10—offering a further example of how the verses could be used and modified in the textual tradition. Based on the context of wisdom and boasting in 1 Cor 1, it is more plausible that Jeremiah and not the song of Hannah is Paul’s source.65 62  Those arguing for an apocryphal saying include Johannes Weiss, Der erste Korintherbrief (KEK 5; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1910), 43 n. 1. The proverbial saying position is held, among others, by Koch, Schrift, 42. 63  Cf. Otto Michel, Paulus und seine Bibel (Gütersloh: Bertelsmann, 1929), 77–78. 64  Thus Josef Schreiner, “Jeremia 9,22.23 als Hintergrund des paulinischen ‘Sich-Rühmens,’ ” in Neues Testament und Kirche: Rudolf Schnakenburg zum 60. Geburtstag (ed. Joachim Gnilka; Freiburg: Herder, 1974), 530–42; Gail R. O’Day, “Jeremiah 9:22–23 and 1 Corinthians 1:26–31: A Study in Intertextuality,” JBL 109 (1990): 259–67; Ulrich Heckel, “Jer 9,22f. als Schlüssel für 2 Kor 10–13: Ein Beispiel für die methodischen Probleme in der gegenwärtigen Diskussion über den Schriftgebrauch bei Paulus,” in Schriftauslegung im antiken Judentum und Urchristentum (eds. Martin Hengel and Hermut Löhr; WUNT 73; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1994), 206–25. 65  Cf. Heckel, “Jer 9,22f.,” 207n3; see further Helga Rusche, “Zum ‘jeremianischen’ Hintergrund der Korintherbriefe,” BZ NF 31 (1987): 119–22, who points to the fact that key words from Jer 9:22–23 are also used in 1 Cor 1:18–22 (p. 119).

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The relevance of the verses from Jeremiah for Paul is confirmed by the fact that the proverbial contraction from Jer 9:23 is adopted again in Paul’s discussion of boasting in 2 Cor 10:17, where the word from Scriptures and the word of the Lord quoted in 2 Cor 12:9 mark the cornerstone of Paul’s argument against his opponents.66 This might indicate that the theological argument from the book of Jeremiah has become quite fundamental for Paul’s debate with the Corinthians, and it is no coincidence that 1 Clem. 13:1, addressed to the Corinthians some decades later, also refers to the same verse from Jeremiah.67 3.2 The New Covenant in the Eucharistic Tradition We can omit some other Pauline passages (such as Rom 2:15) and turn to the motif of the new covenant, which is presented by Paul in two very different contexts, namely in the Eucharist tradition in 1 Cor 11:25 and then—quite differently—in 2 Cor 3:6. The crucial question is: To what extent is Paul indebted specifically to Jeremiah here, or to what extent did he simply adopt the motif from his eucharistic tradition? As is well known, the words from the institution of the Eucharist are transmitted in a fourfold testimony in the Synoptics and in Paul (1 Cor 11:23–25), with Mark and Matthew representing one tradition and Paul and Luke the other.68 Among the most important differences between the two lines of tradition are the following: Both Paul and Luke feature the remembrance formula (τοῦτο ποιεῖτε εἰς τὴν ἐμὴν ἀνάμνησιν), which is included twice in Paul and only once in Luke. Furthermore, the motif of the covenant is phrased differently and draws on different scriptural contexts: Mark and Matthew (“this is my blood of the covenant”) adopt Exod 24:8, whereas Paul and Luke (“this the new 66  On this, cf. extensively Heckel, “Jer 9,22f.,” esp. 216–18. 67  The idea that 1 Clement points to a tradition from which already Paul took his citation (Wolff, Jeremia im Frühjudentum und Urchristentum, 138) runs counter to the chronological sequence and to the fact that 1 Clement certainly was familiar with 1 (and 2) Corinthians. 68  For a thorough discussion of the texts, see Hermann Patsch, Abendmahl und historischer Jesus (Calwer Theologische Monographien A 1; Stuttgart: Calwer, 1972); Ferdinand Hahn, “Die alttestamentlichen Motive in der urchristlichen Abendmahlsüberlieferung,” EvT 27 (1967): 337–74; Ernst Kutsch, Neues Testament—Neuer Bund?: Eine Fehlübersetzung wird korrigiert (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1978), 107–35; Hans-Josef Klauck, Herrenmahl und hellenistischer Kult: Eine religionsgeschichtliche Untersuchung zum ersten Korintherbrief (NTA 15; Münster: Aschendorff, 1982), 297–323; Andreas Lindemann, Der erste Korintherbrief (HNT 9/1; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2000), 256–58, and—still the classic discussion—in Joachim Jeremias, Die Abendmahlsworte Jesu (4th ed.; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1967).

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covenant in my blood”) adopt Jer 31 (LXX 38):31. The Pauline text is the earliest literary testimony to the words of institution, and since Paul explicitly states that he has taught the tradition as he received it (1 Cor 11:23; cf. 15:3), we can confidently consider it a pre-Pauline tradition, developed somewhere “between Damascus, Jerusalem and Antioch”69 and then adopted and transmitted by the apostle to “his” communities. The reference to the night of Jesus’ deliverance points to a more comprehensive oral account of the passion narrative, and the pre-Pauline text is clearly shaped by liturgical usage, most noticeably in the anamnesis formula that calls for repetition. The scholarly search for the original words of Jesus thus faces severe difficulties, especially as the versions in Mark and Paul cannot be reduced to a single basic form. However, if we compare the saying about the cup in Mark and Paul, Mark’s wording τὸ αἷμά μου τῆς διαθήκης (Mk 14:24) appears to be shaped more according to Hebrew or Aramaic style than the Pauline wording ἡ καινὴ διαθήκη . . . ἐν τῷ ἐμῷ αἵματι (1Cor 11:25).70 Consequently, the pre-Pauline version might already be a further development in which the more original idea of the blood of the covenant was already interpreted in light of the eschatological expectation of the new covenant as promised in Jeremiah.71 It is disputed whether the reference to some kind of covenant was an original part of Jesus’ words,72 but it is quite probable that the early community already interpreted Jesus’ death in connection with the new covenant as promised in Jeremiah (and also somewhat similarly in other prophetic passages73). When adopting the tradition, Paul was certainly aware of the scriptural background, but it is remarkable that he does not elaborate any further on the positive implications of the ‘new covenant’ in his letters. The covenantal theme is only mentioned in polemical contexts in which Paul feels the need to argue against the soteriological function of the law. Should we conclude from this evidence that the theme of the covenant—perhaps in connection with circumcision and law—was introduced by his opponents in Galatia or elsewhere? Or was Paul himself so cautious and relatively 69  Cf. Klauck, Herrenmahl, 299. 70  Cf. Jeremias, Abendmahlsworte, 162–63; Kutsch, Neues Testament, 120–35; Dieter Zeller, Der erste Brief an die Korinther (KEK 5; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2010), 373. 71  Thus Klauck, Herrenmahl, 313. 72  Thus Knut Backhaus, “Hat Jesus vom Gottesbund gesprochen?,” TGl 86 (1996): 343–56; idem, Der neue Bund und das Werden der Kirche: Die Diatheke-Deutung des Hebräerbriefs im Rahmen der frühchristlichen Theologiegeschichte (NTA 29; Münster: Aschendorff, 1996), 291–93. 73  Cf. Ezek 16:60–62; 37:23, 26 and Isa 49:8 LXX (cf. Klauck, Herrenmahl, 313).

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silent about the covenant because the motif could easily work as an argument for his opponents who insisted on the circumcision of Gentile believers and their integration into the covenant? We cannot discuss these issues in more detail here, but the relatively scarce use of the covenant motif as well as Paul’s use of it in polemical and apologetic contexts deserves further consideration in the debate about Paul and his alleged “covenantal nomism.” 3.3 The Two Covenants from Gal 4 Gal 4 only briefly mentions the two covenants in the allegory of Hagar and Sarah in Gal 4:24. In Galatians, the covenantal motif is not used together with the adjectives “new” or “old.” Although the text implies an opposition between the covenant from Sinai and another covenant linked with the promise, other oppositions such as Hagar–Sarah, Ishmael–Isaac, and slavery–­freedom are more prominent, and there is no allusion to another covenant in the Scriptures or to Jer 31. Thus, it is an inappropriate conjecture when exegetes introduce the terms “old” and “new” covenant here.74 Paul’s intention is clearly to discredit the covenant from Sinai as slavery under the law in order to keep the Galatian Jesus-followers from having themselves circumcised; the positive aspects of freedom or “the Jerusalem that is above” are not elaborated in covenantal terms. 3.4 The Old and the New Covenant in 2 Corinthians 3 The term covenant occurs in another context that is also polemical, or at least apologetic, namely 2 Cor 3. In defense of his apostolic ministry against rival missionaries, Paul develops the “glory” and dignity of his ministry in comparison with the ministry of Moses (and the law) in a bold exegesis of Exod 34. There is no need to discuss the exegetical problems of the argument here.75 We should rather note that the two terms do not occur in exact juxtaposition but are embedded into different sub-arguments. The first reference to the new covenant—or: to Paul as “minister of the (or: a) new ­covenant”— in 2 Cor 3:6 follows the idea that the community is a letter of Christ (which can recommend Paul and his ministry), written not with ink but with the Spirit of God, not on tablets of stone but on hearts of flesh. Here Paul adopts aspects from Ezek 11:19 and 36:26–27 combined with LXX Jer 38:33 (i.e., Jer 31:33). Thus, on the one hand Paul does not merely adopt a single 74  Thus, e.g., Hans-Dieter Betz, Galatians (Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1979), 243. 75  Cf., e.g., Frances Back, Verwandlung durch Offenbarung bei Paulus: Eine religionsgeschichtlich-exegetische Untersuchung zu 2 Kor 2,14–4,6 (WUNT 2/153; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2002).

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scriptural passage but a cluster of motifs, although on the other hand this is just a short step away from the terminology in LXX Jer 38:31, which was known to the Corinthians from their Eucharist tradition. Hence, Paul can present himself as διάκονος καινῆς διαθήκης—“minister of the (or: a) new covenant.” After the concluding sentence “the letter kills, the Spirit imparts life,” Paul turns to the comparison of his “ministry of the Spirit” and the ministry of Moses, which is called “ministry of death” (3:7). The argument for the superiority of the former is based on the reading that the radiance (δόξα) on Moses’ face disappeared in time, whereas the glory (δόξα) of the ministry of the Spirit does not fade. In a second step, he focuses on the veil on Moses’ face (3:13), which is boldly interpreted not as a means to protect the Israelites but as a means to hide the transient character of his radiance or glory. When he then turns from the veil on Moses’ face to the veil on the reading of the “old covenant,” it is clear that παλαιὰ διαθήκη is not used for the covenant but for the related writings, viz. the Torah and the Prophets. Thus, the term is close to the later term Old Testament. This goes far beyond the context of Jer 31: In Jeremiah we have the promise of a new covenant in contrast with the old. In his adaptation Paul especially develops the aspect of revelation, perhaps based on the motif of the internal relation with the law (Jer 31:32–33) but even more so based on the idea of the Spirit (from Ezek 36), while the term “old covenant” is boldly related with the Scriptures of Israel. To what extent is Paul influenced by Jeremiah? He is certainly aware that the term “new covenant,” which is known to him and his communities, is based on Jer 31. However, neither in Gal 4:24 nor in 2 Cor 3:6, 14 does he develop a real “theology of the covenant.” His reading of Jer 31 (LXX 38) is also intertwined with other scriptural passages, especially from Ezekiel, where the motif of the Spirit is prominent. Thus, we must conclude that the influence of Jeremiah (and also of Jer 31:31–34) in Paul is rather limited. 4

The Old and the New Covenant in Hebrews

Turning now to Hebrews, we enter a different world. Although the epistle has long been considered Pauline or from the Pauline circle,76 its dependence on

76  Cf. the survey of early reception history and modern research in Clare K. Rothschild, Hebrews as Pseudepigraphon: The History and Significance of the Pauline Attribution of Hebrews (WUNT 235; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2009), 1–62; cf. also the thorough discussion of the links between Hebrews and the Pauline school in Knut Backhaus, “Der

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Pauline tradition and theology is far from certain.77 The author writes from a third generation perspective to admonish his audience not to leave the assemblies, but to keep steadfast in their faith. His “sermon of exhortation” (13:22) is the most thorough example of scriptural interpretation in the New Testament and is especially focused on Ps 110 (LXX 109), Ps 95 (LXX 94):7–11 and some other passages. Scripture, more precisely the LXX, has a foundational function for the author’s theologizing. Within the core section of his argument, the so-called logos teleios (Heb 7:1– 10:18), the author provides a thoroughgoing comparison, a synkrisis between the old and the new and between the earthly and the heavenly salvific “institutions” of priesthood, covenant, sanctuary, sacrifices, etc. The author seeks to demonstrate that nothing can surpass salvation in Christ, which the addressees will definitely lose if they abandoned their faith. In this argument in Heb 8:8–12,78 the author provides a full quotation of Jer 31 (LXX 38):31–34, thereby composing one of the longest quotations of Scripture in the New Testament. The quotation is introduced as a word from the God who speaks in Scripture (8:8: “he finds fault with them when he says”—the human author is not mentioned). It is only briefly interpreted in the framing verses 8:7 and 8:13, but the motif of the old and new covenant is then continued by references to Exod 24:6–8 and the different cultic action (Heb 9:1–10:10). Finally in the closing argument, a part of the quotation from Jer 31 (LXX 38) is resumed in 10:16–17.79 The scriptural promise of a “new covenant” is obviously of central relevance for the author’s argument in his comparison. Hebräerbrief und die Paulus-Schule,” in Der sprechende Gott: Gesammelte Studien zum Hebräerbrief (WUNT 240; Tübingen 2009), 21–48. 77  Rothschild’s attempt to prove that Hebrews imitates Paul in a polemic interest (see Rothschild, Hebrews as Pseudepigraphon, 63–118, and the final chapter with the title “Reductio ad absurdum,” 205–14) remains unconvincing. 78  For the following, cf. Jörg Frey, “Die alte und die neue διαθήκη nach dem Hebräerbrief,” in Bund und Tora: Zur theologischen Begriffsgeschichte in alttestamentlicher, frühjüdischer und urchristlicher Tradition (eds. Friedrich Avemarie and Hermann Lichtenberger; WUNT 92; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1996), 263–310; see further Backhaus, Der neue Bund; Georg A. Walser, Old Testament Quotations in Hebrews: Studies in Their Textual and Contextual Background (WUNT 2/356; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2013); and earlier Friedrich Schröger, Der Verfasser des Hebräerbriefs als Schriftausleger (BU 4; Regensburg: Pustet, 1968), 162–69. 79  The motif of the διαθήκη is also used in the concluding passages of Hebrews: In Heb 12:24 it is again said that Jesus became the mediator of a new covenant, but the wording varies (διαθήκης νέας); additionally, 13:20 mentions the “blood of an eternal covenant” (which points to the salvific effects of his death and might be inspired by the Eucharist tradition).

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A short remark on the terms is necessary here: The common translation of “covenant” (as “Bund” in German) for the Hebrew berit is debated among Hebrew Bible scholars, but especially the rendering in the LXX by διαθήκη (not by συνθήκη or συνθησία)80 shows that the translators understood berit not in terms of a contract but of a one-sided institution or dispensation. This is the notion adopted in Hebrews, where the LXX text is clearly presupposed. Only in Heb 9:16–17 is the term used in the technical legal sense of “testament,” so that the author can play with the nuances of the term (as Paul does already in Gal 3:15, 17).81 In all other instances, διαθήκη is understood as a divine institution—old or new. Thus, it is important for the author that Scripture (i.e., God or the Holy Spirit82) mentions a new covenant: this implies that according to the author’s reflection on the wording of Scripture, the old is criticized or even declared obsolete (πεπαλαίωκεν, Heb 8:13).83 This is already indicated in the introduction of the quotation (8:7): “If Scripture speaks of a second covenant”—or more literally, “looks for a place for a second covenant,” implying that the first one is not blameless.84 Thus, it is Scripture rather than a word of Jesus or the eucharistic tradition that supplies the ultimate reason for the superiority of the new covenant, mediated by Jesus the high priest, and based on greater promises (8:6). Hebrews presupposes the LXX-text, which differs in some significant aspects from the Masoretic tradition.85 According to the LXX, the covenant is not only 80  As opposed to Aquila and Symmachus, who use συνθήκη in the majority of instances; cf. Ernst Kutsch, ‫ברית‬, THAT 1:339–52, esp. 352. 81  See Harold W. Attridge, The Epistle to the Hebrews: A Commentary on the Epistle to the Hebrews (Hermeneia 72; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1989), 255–56; Frey, “Die alte und die neue διαθήκη,” 267. 82  Cf. the introductions in 8:7 (“he”) and in 10:15 (“the Holy Spirit”). 83  Cf. Attridge, Hebrews, 228. 84  A very similar argument was already given regarding the priesthood “according to the order of Melchizedek” in 7:11: The fact that Scripture mentions such a second “order” of priests—after the institution of the cult and the Levitical priesthood—implies that the first one was weak and unable to provide “perfection” (cf. 7:18–19) and that its sacrifices did not really take away sins (10:4). 85  For a thorough comparison see Adrian Schenker, Das Neue am alten Bund und das Alte am alten: Jer 31 in der hebräischen und griechischen Bibel (FRLANT 212; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2006), 17–48. The most important differences include the following: In v. 32, the last phrase differs in the Greek (αὐτοὶ οὐκ ἐνέμειναν ἐν τῇ διαθήκῃ μου καὶ ἐγὼ ἠμέλησα αὐτῶν φησὶν κύριος), in vv. 33–34 it is the tense of the verb “give” and the plural “laws” (διδοὺς δώσω νόμους μου εἰς τὴν διάνοιαν αὐτῶν).

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broken by the people but since the Israelites “did not stay in the covenant,” God himself is said to have neglected them (Jer LXX 38:32: αὐτοὶ οὐκ ἐνέμειναν ἐν τῇ διαθήκῃ μου καὶ ἐγὼ ἠμέλησα αὐτῶν). This means that the old covenant is not only broken but completely dissolved, and not only by the Israelites but also by the Lord himself, whereas the Masoretic text maintains that Yahweh still remains their Lord or husband. In v. 33 the LXX replaces the singular Torah by a plural ἐντολαί, and the Hebrew “in their midst” is now rendered by “into their mind” (εἰς τὴν διάνοιαν αὐτῶν). With only very slight adaptions, Hebrews follows the LXX86 without any comments. Only the verses before and after the quotation indicate how the text is used in the present argument: It does not focus on the promise of the new covenant but on the criticism of the old one. Having stated that Christ has become the mediator of a “better” covenant that is based on “greater promises” (8:6), the quotation is introduced to prove that the first one was not blameless (8:7). The fact that Scripture mentions a second one is, in the view of the author, a criticism of the first one, and this is supported by the LXX, namely that the first covenant was dissolved not only by the Israelites but also by God himself. By the introduction μεμφόμενος . . . αὐτοὺς (8:8) the author even indicates that he reads Jeremiah’s words of comfort as a word of rebuke (of the Israelites and their covenant). After the lengthy citation the author makes the same point once again: “In saying ‘a new’ (covenant) he has made the first one outdated, and that which becomes outdated and aged is close to vanishing” (8:13). Thus, the quotation substantiates the change from the first to the second dispensation, which for the author is not only promised but completed87 in the inauguration of the heavenly high priest and his heavenly λειτουργία (10:9, 18). A second aspect in Hebrews’ interpretation of the citation emerges only in its resumption in the closure of the argument in 10:16–17. Here it is stressed that the effect of the new covenant and its sacrifice is the actual remission of sins. Where sins are no longer remembered, further offerings are obsolete (10:18). Apart from these two aspects (i.e., the announcement of a new covenant and its accomplishment of actual forgiveness), all other aspects of the long citation are passed over in silence. The author quotes the text that the people

86  On the variations see Schröger, Verfasser, 163–64. It is uncertain whether they can be attributed to authorial adaption or simply to the textual version the author had at his disposal. The text-critical problems of the LXX cannot be discussed here. 87  Interestingly, Heb 8:8 uses συντελέσω where the critical text of the LXX has διαθήσομαι. This might be a deliberate adaption by the author.

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of Israel and Judah broke or “did not stay in their covenant”88 because he is not interested in their fate but only in the aspect of the insufficiency or inefficiency of the first covenant. Nor does he utilize the promise that God would put his laws in their hearts and write them upon their mind (quoted in 8:10 and 10:16), nor the lengthy expansion of that idea quoted in 8:11. The people who receive the new covenant are now simply called “they” (10:16: πρὸς αὐτούς), so that the readers of Hebrews are addressed, and the only aspect explicitly mentioned by the author is the forgiveness of sins. If this has become effective by the ephapax sacrifice of Christ (cf. 9:11–12; 10:12–13), then eternal redemption (9:12) and perfection (7:11) are established and any other offerings are obsolete. The author of Hebrews is the only New Testament author who develops a “covenant theology,” although this is quite focused on the comparison between the new and the old, the second and the first, the latter of which has become outdated and ready to disappear. For his argument it is key that Jeremiah refers to a new covenant because in his view, reality is decisively described by the word of Scripture. In his description of the first covenant and its cult, he can also draw on Exod 24:3–8, which he interprets rather specifically: The sprinkling of blood is explained in terms of an atoning ritual of purification.89 Subsequently, in 12:24 he recalls the expression from Jeremiah, but in a linguistic variation (compared with 8:6) Jesus is now called διαθήκης νέας μεσίτης. Thus, Jer 38:31–34 LXX has decisive relevance for the development of the motifs of the new covenant with Jesus as high priest, the heavenly sanctuary, and the sacrifice offered once and for all, in combination with the motif of the blood of the covenant from Exod 24:8. Of course, the utilization of the scriptural passages arises from the confession that Jesus is the Son and high priest, which is explicated by reference to the Scriptures. It is difficult to determine the extent to which the author’s use of the covenant motif is influenced by other traditions, whether by Paul or the eucharistic tradition. If, as H. Attridge has argued, “The use of τοῦτο” in the quotation of Exod 24:8 in Heb 9:20 indicates “the influence of the eucharistic words of institution,”90 this might point to a tradition more similar to Mark and Matthew than to Paul and Luke. Did the author also take the idea of the new covenant from Christian tradition? This is possible but cannot be ascertained.91 88  This is the motif that is strongly emphasized by the post-canonical Epistle of Barnabas. 89  Cf. Frey, “Die alte und die neue διαθήκη,” 289–90. Notably, Heb 9:20 quotes Exod 24:8 as it is used in Eucharist tradition in Mark and Matthew (τοῦτο τὸ αἷμα τῆς διαθήκης—cf. Matt 26:28 = Mark 14:24: τοῦτο γάρ ἐστιν τὸ αἷμά μου τῆς διαθήκης). 90  Attridge, Hebrews, 257–58. 91  I am more cautious here than in Frey, “Die alte und die neue διαθήκη,” 296–97.

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In any case, the development of the covenant motif is much more extensive than in Paul, and its coherence and shape differ from the Pauline references.92 Both Paul’s idea of the two covenants in Gal 4:24 and his antithetical use of the motif of the old and the new covenant in 2 Cor 3 are presented in polemical contexts. The intention is to exclude the Jewish law from the sphere of salvation. In Hebrews the situation is quite different. Although the first covenant is even declared obsolete, there is no polemical intention and the law—apart from cultic laws—is no longer a problem. Hebrews is only concerned with the constitution and scriptural legitimacy of the high priestly function of Christ, viz. the salvation in Christ expressed in cultic terms as the new and eternally valid sacrifice. 5 Conclusion In the New Testament reception of the figure of Jeremiah, his book, and the related traditions we can study various patterns of the reception of biblical figures. Whereas, on the one hand, e.g., the author of Hebrews in his “theology of the word of God” only draws on scriptural quotations (from the LXX), extensively quoting and adapting Jer 38:31–34 LXX, on the other hand Matthew or his tradition shows a certain influence of the Jeremiah legends. While Matthew apparently draws on various portions of Jeremiah, Revelation focuses on only two chapters. Whereas the motif of the covenant is present in all traditions of the eucharistic words of institution, the reference to Jeremiah’s new covenant is only adopted in parts of the tradition, and it is striking that Paul does not expound on the motif in a coherent manner. The author of Hebrews is the only NT author who really develops a theology of the covenant based on Jeremiah (and Exod 24), and it might be an interesting endeavor to see how that motif was further interpreted, with or without reference to Jeremiah texts. This survey illustrates the diverse and variegated ways that the motif of the covenant has been adopted by New Testament authors.93 Is Jeremiah a prophet of minor importance for New Testament authors? The book is by no means unimportant, although the figure is not mentioned frequently. Nevertheless, for the majority of New Testament authors, including Paul, Mark, Matthew, and John, the texts of Isaiah and the Psalms are more prominent than Jeremiah. 92  For a thorough comparison, cf. Backhaus, Der neue Bund, 303–06. 93  Modern exegetes, especially those under the impression of what scholars have called “covenantal nomism,” are apparently tempted to introduce that motif into contexts where it is rather absent.

chapter 41

Jeremiah in the Book of Revelation. A Response to Jörg Frey Adela Yarbro Collins We are all in Professor Frey’s debt for his careful and comprehensive survey of the use of the book of Jeremiah and traditions about this prophet in the New Testament. He consistently considers questions of the purpose of the quotations and allusions and how they fit into the work of the writer in question and sometimes more generally into a particular stream of early Christian tradition. I have only one brief comment about Frey’s treatment of Jeremiah as a prophetic figure in the Gospel of Matthew. It concerns the first paragraph of section d), Jeremiah in Matthew—a multifaceted image of reception. Here Frey concludes that Jeremiah cannot “be considered a pattern for the fate of Jesus, since the suffering of the innocent one—a motif already adopted from Mark— is thoroughly interpreted in terms of its salvific effects.”1 He seems to refer here to the idea that the Psalms of individual lament express the unmerited suffering of a just person and that this idea was applied to Jesus in one of the earliest interpretations of his death. This scholarly construct, however, has been criticized in favor of the view that the earliest interpretation of such Psalms in relation to the death of Jesus is based on the consensus in the first century c.e. that the suffering one is the author of the Psalms, David the king. The suffering of Jesus is then interpreted as that of the Son of David in a process that Donald Juel called “messianic exegesis.”2 I find Frey’s section 3, “Jeremianic motifs and the ‘New Covenant’ in Paul” to be helpful and convincing. Section 4, “The ‘Old’ and the ‘New Covenant in Hebrews” is equally insightful.

1  Jörg Frey, “The Reception of Jeremiah and the Impact of Jeremianic Traditions in the New Testament: A Survey,” in this volume, pp. 499–522. 2  Donald Juel, Messianic Exegesis: Christological Interpretation of the Old Testament in Early Christianity (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1988) 96–117; Stephen P. Ahearne-Kroll, The Psalms of Lament in Mark’s Passion: Jesus’ Davidic Suffering (SNTS Monograph Series 142; Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2007) 13–16, 51–58; Adela Yarbro Collins, Mark: A Commentary (Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2007) 652, 759.

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In his discussion of the book of Revelation, Frey focuses on “Jeremiah’s oracles against Babylon as adopted by the author of Revelation” (section 2). He shows that Jeremiah’s oracles against Babylon in chapters 50–51 play a decisive role in the composition of Rev 17–18. These oracles “are used to describe the new Babylon, Rome, and its fall,”3 along with other oracles against Babylon from Isa 21 and 47 and oracles against Tyre from Isa 23 and Ezek 26–27. In what follows, I hope to show in more detail how the author of Revelation used Jeremiah in creating his work. Revelation begins with a sentence that serves as a title of the work as a whole (1:1–2). Following the title is a blessing pronounced on the one who reads this work aloud and those who hear “the words of this prophecy and observe what is written in it, for the time is near (1:3).”4 Next comes the typical opening of an ancient letter, modified to fit the circumstances of followers of Jesus: the name of the sender, John, and the addressees, the seven churches (1:4a); a greeting wishing them favor and peace from God and Christ (1:4b–5a); and a doxology (1:5b–6). This epistolary prescript is followed by two prophetic sayings, the second including the classic prophetic phrase, “says the Lord God” (1:7–8). The first main section of Revelation is an account of an epiphany of the risen Christ, who dictates seven messages to John for the seven churches, who are also the addressees of the work as a whole (1:9–3:22). The first allusion to Jeremiah occurs in the message to Thyatira (2:18–29). In this community there is a female prophet whose authority is evidently recognized by its members. This recognition is implied by the words of John put into the mouth of Jesus, the blame that follows the opening praise, “But I hold this against you, that you permit the woman Jezebel, who calls herself a prophet and teaches and leads astray my slaves so that they engage in sexual immorality and eat food offered to idols” (2:20). John maligns the woman by giving her a nickname that calls to mind the notorious queen of Israel. It is interesting that her activity includes teaching as well as prophecy. Admonishment and threats follow, culminating in an allusion to Jer 17:10, “The seven congregations will know that I am the one who searches minds and hearts, and I will give to each one of you according to your works” (2:23).5 As Christian Wolff has noted, the combination of testing heart(s) and minds with recompense according to one’s deeds occurs in

3  Frey, “The Reception of Jeremiah,” p. 511. 4  Translations from the New Testament are the author’s. 5  Jer 11:20 speaks of the Lord testing minds and heart(s) and about retribution but lacks the explicit theme of retribution according to works.

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the Christian Bible only in these two passages.6 The allusion makes a strong impression of potential judgment and punishment. It also implies the transference of divine knowledge and the power of judgment and punishment from God (as in Jeremiah) to Christ (as in Revelation).7 After the epiphany of Christ, the next main section of Revelation begins with a vision of God enthroned in heaven (4:1–11). This vision continues with a scene involving a scroll with seven seals and “a Lamb, standing as if slain” (5:6). The Greek word ἀρνίον is used here, and in the twenty-nine times it occurs in Revelation, it refers to Jesus, with the exception of 13:11, where it refers to a false prophet described as a counterpoint to Jesus.8 The only other time this word is used in the New Testament is John 21:15, where it refers to the disciples of Jesus. The Gospel of John portrays John the Baptist as referring to Jesus as “the Lamb of God” (1:29, 36). The term for lamb there, however, is ἀμνός. The use of different words for “lamb” indicates independence of the book of Revelation from the Gospel of John, in spite of the common image of Jesus as a lamb. This situation suggests that there may be some connection between Rev 5:6 and Jer 11:19, where Jeremiah says, “But I was like a gentle lamb led to the slaughter.”9 The implication would be that Jesus is a prophet like Jeremiah with regard to his experience of suffering and opposition.10 The vision of chapters 4 and 5 continues in chapter 6 with the opening of the seven seals by the Lamb. When the fourth seal is opened, John sees a yellow-green horse ridden by Death, who was followed by Hades.11 John knows somehow that “authority was given to them over a fourth of the earth, to kill with sword, and famine, and pestilence (literally ‘death’)” (6:8). The first four seals unleash catastrophes like those of Jer 14:11–12, where the Lord tells Jeremiah not to intercede for the people, because God will not accept their 6  Christian Wolff, Jeremia im Frühjudentum und Urchristentum (TUGAL 118; Berlin: Akademie-Verlag, 1976) 171. 7  Pointed out by David E. Aune, Revelation 1–5 (WBC 52A; Dallas: Word, 1997), 206. 8  Ibid., 352, 367–68. 9  Translation from the NRSV. The word for “lamb” in Jer 11:19 in the LXX is ἀρνίον. The same term is used in Jer 27:45 LXX (MT 50:45), but there it is used in the plural for the “little ones” of Babylon, “dragged away” by the power of the God of Israel. In the MT, a word for “lamb” (‫ )כבש‬is used in Jer 11:19, but an adjective is used substantively for “little ones” or “young ones” (‫ )צעיר‬in 50:45. 10  Aune mentions Jer 11:19 and 27:45 LXX in connection with the use of ἀρνίον in Revelation (Revelation 1–5, 368) in discussing whether the Greek word may be translated “ram.” Wolff, Jeremia, does not discuss Rev 5:6. 11  Alternatively, the color of the fourth horse may also be translated “pale” or “greenish gray” (BAGD, s.v. χλωρός).

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cries and offerings. Rather the Lord will consume them “by the sword, by famine, and by pestilence.”12 The words for “famine” and “pestilence” are the same in Revelation and the LXX of Jer 14:12. Revelation, however, has ῥομφαία for sword, whereas the LXX has μάχαιρα. Similar triads occur elsewhere, as David Aune has shown.13 Ezekiel 14:21 is more similar to Revelation in that it adds “evil beasts” to the triad. Revelation 6:8 gives a list of four calamities, ending with being killed by wild beasts. Ezekiel’s “evil beasts,” however, comes between famine and pestilence, and the motif is more common in Jeremiah than in any other biblical book. Between the opening of the sixth and seventh seals, two visions of salvation are given in chapter 7. In the first 144,000 of the slaves of God, twelve thousand from each of the tribes of Israel, are protected by being sealed with the seal of the living God (7:2–3).14 They are thus shielded from harm upon the earth, the sea, and the trees. This harm is evidently about to be unleashed by the angels standing at the four corners of the earth. Since these angels are portrayed as having power over the four winds of the earth, it is suggested that the harm will be caused by these winds. The scene is reminiscent of the oracle concerning the judgment of Elam in Jer 49:34–39. In that oracle the Lord of Hosts declares, “I will bring upon Elam the four winds from the four ends of heaven, and I will scatter them to all these winds, and there shall be no nation to which the exiles from Elam shall not come” (49:36).15 John may have taken the notion of punishment by means of the winds and heightened it to a punishment on the inhabitants of the earth more generally, as he transformed the (ten) plagues against Egypt to (seven) plagues upon the whole cosmos in the sequence of the seven trumpets.16 In the second vision of chapter 7, an innumerable multitude from every nation stands before the divine throne and the Lamb, celebrating their emergence from “the great tribulation.” One of their rewards is that the Lamb “will shepherd them and lead them to the springs of life” (7:17).17 This image appears 12  See also Jer 15:2–3 (v. 2 is echoed in Rev 13:10) and 21:7. In the MT, the word translated “sword” is ‫“ ; ֶח ֶרב‬famine” is ‫“ ; ָר ָעב‬pestilence” is ‫ ֶּד ֶבר‬. 13  David E. Aune, Revelation 6–16 (WBC 52B; Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 1998), 402. 14  This image evokes Ezek 9:3–6. See the discussion in Aune, Revelation 6–16, 452, 455. 15  Trans. NRSV modified. The MT refers to the “ends (‫ ) ְקֹצות‬of heaven,” and the LXX (25:16) has “from the four ends (ἄκρα) of heaven.” In Rev 7:1, the angels are standing at “the four corners (γωνίαι) of the earth.” 16  Revelation 8 and 9; the seventh trumpet is blown in 11:15. Aune mentions Jer 49:36 (Revelation 6–16, 451), but focuses more generally on the intercultural notion of four winds (ibid., 450–51). 17  I follow Aune’s translation here (Revelation 6–16, 426, 431, note 17.c-c).

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again in the comments of “the one seated on the throne” on the new creation, “I will give, as a free gift, to the one who thirsts (water) from the spring of the water of life” (21:6). One of the seven angels who had the seven bowls shows John the new Jerusalem, in which there is a perfectly clear river of the water of life (22:1). Finally, in 22:17, anyone who wishes to do so is invited to take “the water of life” without cost. David Aune argues that the allusion in Rev 7:17 is to Isa 49:10d, a line that shares the ideas of “leading” and “water.”18 The passage from Isaiah, however, lacks the motif of living water or water of life. Aune proposed that Rev 21:6d is an allusion to Isa 55:1 to which the motif of living water has been added.19 Christian Wolff concludes that the image of living water in Revelation probably comes from Jeremiah’s metaphor of the Lord as a fountain of living water (Jer 2:13; 17:13).20 This conclusion is not incompatible with Aune’s argument that Rev 22:1 is an allusion to Ezek 47:1–12. The reference to the water that flows from the temple and becomes a river, however, makes the point concretely that the water gives life to fish and fruit-bearing trees by a vivid description of the process. It does not use a phrase like “water of life” or “living water.” Jeremiah is a credible source for such phrases. When the third angel blows his trumpet, a great star falls from heaven upon a third of the earth’s rivers and springs of water (8:10–11). The name of this star is Wormwood (ὁ Ἄψινθος), and it turns the water on which it falls into wormwood, a term for strong-smelling plants with white or yellow flowers, specifically a species that yields a bitter-tasting, dark green oil used in making absinthe.21 In Jer 9:14 (MT), the Lord resolves to feed the people wormwood (‫ ) ַל ֲענָ ה‬and to give them poisonous water to drink. In Jer 23:15, the Lord will make the prophets of Jerusalem, who commit adultery and walk in lies, eat wormwood and drink poisonous water. John, assuming he alludes to Jeremiah, once again gives a threat or a judgment upon a specific people, or group within that people, a more cosmic scope. The limitation to one-third of the waters is probably a literary device that increases the scope of the effects of the seals in the trumpets, and of the trumpets in the bowls. John states that many people 18  Ibid., 478. Rev 7:17 expresses the notion of guiding or leading with ὁδηγεῖν, whereas ἄγειν occurs in Isa 49:10. 19  David E. Aune, Revelation 17–22 (WBC 52C; Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 1998), 1127. He also argues that Rev 22:17c “is a probably allusion to Isa 55:1a (ibid., 1228). 20  Wolff, Jeremia, 100. Frey finds the suggestion of R. H. Charles to be “interesting” that the image in Rev 7:17 is based on Jer 2:13 (Frey, note 53). 21  For further detail, see Aune, Revelation 6–16, 521–22. He discusses Jer 9:15 and 23:15 on p. 522.

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died from drinking the water because it was made bitter. It seems that the author of Revelation has fused the two punishments of Jeremiah into one, making the wormwood cause the water to be poison, at least for many. The oracle of judgment has become a brief but dramatic narrative.22 Two striking visions follow the seven trumpets, one of a woman clothed with the sun, the other of two beasts. In the first a serpent or dragon pursues the woman, which is identified with Satan. The beast that arises from the sea is a blending of the four beasts of Dan 7 (13:1–2). The dragon gives its power to this beast, and it is allowed “to make war on the saints and to conquer them, and it was given authority over every tribe and people and tongue and nation” (13:7). The universal authority signifies Rome. The theme of persecution is continued with an aphorism that functions as a prophetic signature, “If anyone has an ear, let him hear.”23 This saying introduces an oracle based on Jer 15:2, “If anyone is for captivity, to captivity he goes; if anyone is to be killed with the sword, with the sword he is to be killed” (13:10).24 Jer 15:2 reads And when they say to you, “Where shall we go,” you shall say to them, “Thus says the Lord: Those who are for pestilence, to pestilence, and those who are for the sword, to the sword; those who are for famine, to famine, and those who are for captivity, to captivity.”25 John has adapted a prophecy meant for the people of Judah to the followers of Jesus, who have already been persecuted to some degree, and for whom more persecution is expected. After the vision of the two beasts comes a vision of the Lamb, standing on Mount Zion with the 144,000. Then comes a vision of three angels, each with a different message. The second angel announces for the first time in Revelation the fall of “Babylon” (14:8): “Fallen, fallen is Babylon the great, who has given all the nations to drink of the wine of her passionate whoring.” John refers to Rome with the code name “Babylon,” thus invoking prophetic texts concerning the earlier imperial city. This code name was selected because agents of the Roman emperor destroyed Jerusalem in John’s time, just as agents of the ruler of Babylon did at an earlier time.26 In this announcement, John creates 22  Cf. ibid., 522. 23  Aune, Revelation 1–5, 150 and Revelation 6–16, 749. 24  Wolff doubts that 13:10 is a direct allusion to Jeremiah (Jeremia, 171–72); Aune takes it as such (Revelation 6–16, 749). 25  Cf. Jer 43:11 (LXX 50:11). 26  Adela Yarbro Collins, Crisis and Catharsis: The Power of the Apocalypse (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1984) 57–58.

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a blended allusion to Isa 21:9 and Jer 51:7–8. The repetition of the verb comes from Isaiah.27 The Jeremiah passage reads, “A golden cup was Babylon in the hand of the Lord, making all the earth drunken; the nations drank of her wine, and so the nations went mad. Suddenly Babylon has fallen and is shattered.”28 After the seven bowls are announced (15:1), which complete the catastrophes expressing the wrath of God, and before the bowls are poured out, those who have conquered the beast stand before the throne of God and sing “the song of Moses” (15:2–3). The song that is quoted consists of a pastiche of biblical passages. It is noteworthy that two phrases of this song are taken from Jer 10:7, the acclamation “King of the nations” (15:3) and the rhetorical question, “who would not fear you?” (15:4).29 I turn now to the use of Jeremiah in Rev 17–18, a complex of passages Frey discusses and Wolff analyzes.30 At the beginning of chapter 17, one of the seven angels who had the seven bowls comes to John and offers to show him “the judgment of the great whore who is seated by many waters.” This phrase echoes Jer 51:14, “You who live by mighty waters, rich in treasures, your end has come.”31 Since Jeremiah’s oracle is spoken against “the inhabitants of Babylon,” this allusion identifies the woman of Revelation as the new Babylon.32 This inference is confirmed by 17:5, which declares, “And upon her forehead, a name (is) written, a mystery, Babylon the great, the mother of whores and of the abominations of the earth.” The “whore” metaphor is used most often in the Hebrew Bible and Septuagint of Israel, Samaria, Judah, and Jerusalem.33 On two occasions it is used of foreign cities: Nineveh in the book of Nahum and Tyre in Isa 23. In all these contexts, it has the effect of denigrating the male leaders of these political entities by feminizing them.34

27  This doubling is found in the MT and in the Greek of Codex Vaticanus (B) at 28:7–8. See Aune, Revelation 6–16, 829. 28  In Rev 14:10, the unmixed wine (symbolizing a severe punishment) that the one who worships the beast must drink alludes to Jer 25:15 (LXX 32:15); see Aune, Revelation 6–16, 833. 29  Aune, Revelation 6–16, 874. Wolff concludes that Rev 15:3–4 do not allude to Jeremiah directly because they are liturgically formed ( Jeremia, 172). 30  Frey, “The Reception of Jeremiah,” section 2, p. 509–512; Wolff, Jeremia, 166–70. 31  Jer 51:13 MT. The LXX (Jer 28:13) reads, κατασκηνοῦντας ἐφ᾿ ὕδασι πολλοῖς καὶ ἐπὶ πλήθει θησαυρῶν αὐτῆς· ἥκει τὸ πέρας σου ἀληθῶς εἰς τὰ σπλάγχα σου. 32  Jer 51:12 MT; 28:12 LXX (οἱ κατοικοῦντες Βαβυλῶνα). 33  Hos 4:10–19 (Israel); Isa 1:21 (Jerusalem); Isa 57:3 (the postexilic community in Judah); Jer 3:3 (Israel and Judah); Ezek 16:30, 31, 35 (Jerusalem); Ezek 23:43, 44 (Samaria and Jerusalem). 34  I owe this insight to my colleague Professor Carolyn Sharp.

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The significance of the “whore” metaphor in Rev 17 may be found in verse 2: “the kings of the earth went whoring [with her] and the inhabitants of the earth became drunk with the wine of her whoring.” This imagery could signify the great attractiveness of Rome’s power and wealth. The language of whoring and drunkenness implies that all who dwell on the earth, including kings, took leave of their senses and acted irrationally in seeking to fulfill their desires, desires that the woman was able to satisfy. The inhabitants of the earth, or nations, becoming mad from drinking Babylon’s wine is an allusion to Jer 51:7, similar to the allusion in 14:8, noted earlier.35 The “golden cup” in 17:4 owes something to Jer 51:7 as well.36 In the masterful account of the fall of Babylon in Rev 18, the actual destruction takes place off stage. In this chapter, John has blended passages from Jeremiah, Ezekiel, and Isaiah to create a new dramatic whole. First an angel descends from heaven and announces, “Fallen, fallen, is Babylon the great” (18:1–2). As we have seen, this part of the announcement was spoken already in 14:8, and it alludes primarily to Isa 21:9. The angel goes on, “and it has become a dwelling place of demons and a station for every unclean spirit and unclean and hated bird” (18:2). This part of the announcement calls to mind a variety of biblical passages, including Jer 51:37.37 Isaiah 13:21 mentions “goat-demons,” but otherwise the picture is of wild animals inhabiting a ruined city. John increases the emphasis on demons and unclean spirits, probably due to the increasing interest in demonology and exorcism in Second Temple Jewish texts.38 The last part of this first angelic announcement reprises themes from the description of “Babylon” in chapter 17 (18:3), some of which derive from Jeremiah, as we have seen. An anonymous voice then calls out from heaven exhorting “my people” to “come out of her” lest they share in her sins and receive the plagues she will undergo (18:4). This exhortation seems to allude to a combination of Jer 51:6 and 45. Here John transforms a concrete “summons to flight” from the actual city of Babylon into a call to avoid involvement in what John regards as sinful aspects of Roman culture. The voice goes on to say that, “her sins have reached up to heaven” (18:5). This is an allusion to Jer 51:9, “For her judgment has reached up to heaven and has been lifted up even to the skies.”

35  See above, p. 528; cf. Wolff, Jeremia, 167; Aune, Revelation 17–22, 932. 36  Frey, “The Reception of Jeremiah,” p. 511, note 55; Wolff, Jeremia, 167; Aune, Revelation 17–22, 935. 37  See also Jer 9:10–12; Isa 13:21–22; Zeph 2:14; Aune, Revelation 17–22, 986. 38  Collins, Mark, 151–53.

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The same voice commands an unspecified agent to render to her as she has rendered and “to repay her twice as much as she has done” (18:6a).39 This saying alludes to Jer 50:29b, “Repay her according to her deeds; just as she has done, do to her,” and Jer 16:18, “And I will doubly repay their iniquity.”40 It is striking that, whereas the first allusion is to a passage spoken against Babylon, the second against Judah. Rather than a lack of concern for context, the use of the second passage here may be based on the logic that, if Judah deserved double punishment, how much more does Rome.41 The conclusion of the speech of the anonymous voice is, “Rejoice over her, O heaven, and you holy ones and apostles and prophets” (18:20). This exhortation seems to be a transformation of the oracle in Jer 51:48, “Then the heavens and the earth, and all that is in them, shall shout for joy over Babylon.”42 Then John sees a mighty angel lift up a stone like a large millstone and throw it in the sea, saying, “So will Babylon, the great city, be thrown with force and will not be found any longer” (18:21). Here we find an allusion to Jer 51:63–64.43 In the context Jeremiah writes down in a scroll all the disasters that will overtake Babylon and instructs Seraiah to take it to Babylon and to read “all these words.” Then Jeremiah instructs him as follows, “when you finish reading this scroll, tie a stone to it, and throw it into the middle of the Euphrates, and say, ‘Thus shall Babylon sink, to rise no more, because of the disasters that I am bringing on her.’ ” Both texts involve a (prophetic) symbolic action. The mighty angel continues, in a poignant passage, to describe the things that will not be heard, found, or seen in Babylon any more (18:22–23b), blending and elaborating allusions to Isa 24:8 and Jer 25:10. The chapter concludes by giving a reason for the punishment of Babylon as Rome, “And in her was found the blood of prophets and holy ones and all the slain upon the earth” (18:24). This conclusion is an adaptation of Jer 51:49, which gives a reason for the destruction of the historical city, “Babylon must fall for the slain of Israel, as the slain of all the earth have fallen because of Babylon.”44 In the expectation of the destruction of Rome and the similarities drawn with Babylon, we can discern a desire for vindication, not only for Nero’s destructive action against followers of Christ in Rome, but also and especially, John’s grief over the destruction of Jerusalem in 70. 39  Trans. from Aune, Revelation 17–22, 992. 40  So also Aune, ibid. 41  Cf. Ezra’s complaint in 2 Esd 3:28–36. 42  Aune also makes this connection (Revelation 17–22, 983), as Frey points out (note 54). 43  Aune (Revelation 17–22, 983); Frey (ibid.). 44  Cf. Aune, Revelation 17–22, 1011.

chapter 42

The Jeremianic Covenant Theology and its Impact in the Gospel of Matthew. A Response to Jörg Frey Veronika Niederhofer In his article about the impact of the book of Jeremiah on the New Testament, Jörg Frey comes to the conclusion that the book of Jeremiah is “by no means unimportant, although the figure is not mentioned frequently.”1 While Frey gives an overview of Jeremiah in the New Testament as a whole, I would like to focus on just one aspect of Frey’s paper, namely the explicit references to Jeremiah in the Gospel of Matthew (Matt 2:17–18; 16:14 and 27:9–10).2 I will focus explicitly on the function of the quote of Jer 38:15 (LXX) in Matt 2:18,3 which states: A voice was heard in Ramah, weeping and great mourning, Rachel weeping for her children; And she would not be comforted, because they are not (RSV). Referring to this verse, Frey writes: “[because] the phrase explaining Jesus’ name (i.e., ‘he will rescue his people from their sins,’ Matt 1:21) recalls a passage from the same chapter (LXX Jer 38:7: ἔσωσεν κύριος τὸν λαὸν αὐτοῦ), we can at least assume that the hope for restoration is not totally unnoticed in Matthew’s quotation of Rachel’s lament.” In other words, Jeremiah is not simply the prophet of doom in Matthew. Rather, the Gospel’s “programmatic opening” has the book of Jeremiah in mind, and the citation of Jer 38:7 in 1  See Jörg Frey’s article, “The Reception of Jeremiah and the Impact of Jeremiah Traditions in the New Testament: A Survey,” in this volume, 499–522. Frey analyses the impact of Jeremiah in the Gospel of Matthew, Hebrews, and the Pauline Epistles, especially 1 and 2 Corinthians, and the Book of Revelation. Frey also gives an overview of the explicit quotations of and allusions to Jeremiah in the New Testament. Furthermore, he focuses on the impact of some Jeremianic motifs in various books of the New Testament. 2  For an overview of quotations in Matthew and its different forms, cf. Wim Weren, Studies in Matthew’s Gospel: Literary Design, Intertextuality, and Social Setting (BibInt 130; Leiden: Brill, 2014), 99–100. 3  Many thanks are due to Michael Sommer, who discussed this idea with me in a very open and helpful way.

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Matt 1:21 indicates that Matthew’s concept of salvation corresponds to what is presented in Jeremiah.4 If Jeremianic theology impacts a verse as crucial as Matt 1:21, then perhaps this is also the case in Matt 2:18, where another passage from Jeremiah is quoted (Jer 38:15 LXX).5 Beyond this point, it is worth asking whether Jer 38:15 LXX as a single, isolated verse is important for Matthew or whether the author of the Gospel expects his readers to consider the passage’s broader context. If the broader context of Jer 38:15 is assumed, then it may be important to consider its meaning for Matthew’s theology. 1

The Context of the Verses

Although Matthew’s quotation of the text in Jeremiah does not show any signs of significant redaction,6 it is worth considering whether a look at the contexts of Matt 2:18 and Jer 38:15 (LXX) can provide any answers for my inquiry. The concrete sequence of quotations in the Matthean infancy story

4  Cf. W. D. Davies and Dale C. Allison, The Gospel According to Saint Matthew: Volume 1: Matthew 1–7 (ICC; London: T&T Clark, 1991), 266–67, who consider Jeremiah the “prophet of doom and sorrow,” since he is the only prophet mentioned by name in the New Testament in especially negative contexts. 5  In his article, Jörg Frey presents the current positions of scholars and says that “Rachel’s lament can also be read as the lament for the Messiah, whose life is attacked” and as a sign for “the hope for restoration, or rather salvation, as promised in Jeremiah . . .,” in this volume, 503. 6  Matthew 2:18 is not a precise, literal fulfillment quotation of Jer 31:15 (38:15 LXX). With regard to the content, it connects the motif of Rachel weeping over the dead children with Herod’s infanticide in Bethlehem. For my study, the textual form in which the Jeremianic text is quoted in Matt 2:18 is irrelevant. The textual observations in my paper are not dependent on a textual form and are plausible regardless of the textual variants. For further information see M. J. J. Menken, Matthew’s Bible: The Old Testament Text of the Evangelist (BETL 173; Leuven: Leuven University Press, 2004), 143–59, also published in JSNTSup 189 (2000): 106–25; see also Steve Moyise, “Matthew’s Bible in the Infancy Narrative,” in The Scriptures of Israel in Jewish and Christian tradition: Essays in Honour of Maarten J.J. Menken (eds. Bart J. Koet et al.; NovTSup 148; Leiden: Brill, 2013), 11–24. Menken explains the text version of Matt 2:18 based on versions of the LXX, and it seems plausible that in this case Matthew had a revised LXX. The quote in 2:18 is a compilation of different variants of the Jeremianic text and is very similar to versions of the Septuagint known today (and also to the Masoretic text); see Ulrich Luz, Das Matthäusevangelium (5t. ed.; EKK; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Patmos, 2002), 181.

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could be especially meaningful. In fact, there may be two keys to the reception of Jeremiah in the Matthean infancy story, namely: 1) 2)

the context of Matt 2:18—and especially the series of quotations in Matt 1–3 in their contexts, the broader context of Jer 38:15 (LXX).7

1.1 The Context of Matthew 2:18 Is Matt 1:18–3:3 merely a random conglomeration of quotes, or are these compiled and combined in a deliberate manner? In other words, what kind of author is Matthew and how carefully does he interact with his citations?8 A first observation is that Matt 2 would make sense even without the short passage in Matt 2:16–18: The verses do not advance the narrative at all, and one could even find a doublet between the verses 2:15a and 19: Matt 2:15a καὶ ἦν ἐκεῖ ἕως τῆς τελευτῆς Ἡρῴδου, Matt 2:19 Τελευτήσαντος δὲ τοῦ Ἡρῴδου ἰδοὺ ἄγγελος κυρίου φαίνεται κατ’ ὄναρ τῷ Ἰωσὴφ ἐν Αἰγύπτῳ. 7  This approach differs, for example, from that of Walter Groß, who argues that the context of texts is not of primary importance. It is simply necessary to have a look at a broader context if one can assume that the author of the New Testament text knew it. Cf. Walter Groß, “Wer dominiert? Methodische Probleme mit neutestamentlichen Rezeptionen alttestamentlicher Texte,” in Aneignung durch Transformation: Beiträge zur Analyse von Überlieferungsprozessen im frühen Christentum: Festschrift für Michael Theobald (HBS 74: Freiburg: Herder, 2013), 377–94, esp. 393; in contrast to his approach in the same volume, cf. Tobias Nicklas, “Die Gottverlassenheit des Gottessohns: Funktionen von Psalm 22/21 LXX in frühchristlichen Auseinandersetzungen mit der Passion Jesu,” 395–415. 8  In general there are various kinds of quotations and allusions, all of them with different meanings. Some are simply included to complete a story or a narrative; others have an interpretative function, such as telling a story to illustrate an idea. For the implications of these various quotations in Matthew, see Tobias Nicklas, “Jesusbilder in den Evangelien,” in Jesus begegnen: Zugänge zur Christologie (ed. M. Böhnke and T. Söding; Theologische Module 3; Freiburg: Herder, 2009), 7–78, esp. 58–59. Matthew 4:13–15 (a quote from Isa 8:23 and 9:1), for example, seeks to explain the appearance of Jesus specifically in Capernaum. Perhaps the author is trying to establish a theologically important statement by constructing a (probably non-historical) narrative and connecting it with a fulfillment quote, in this case the Immanuel concept in combination with the virgin birth in 1:23 (a verse from Isa 7:14 LXX). Luz gives a list of explanations for this quote, such as linking the life of Jesus with historically correct facts. Some scholars see an apologetic motivation on the part of “Christian writers” against “Jews,” while others argue that the fulfillment quotations have no general meaning at all; see Luz, Matthäusevangelium, 196f.

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This could be taken as an indication that an earlier source was redacted,9 or that 2:16–18 is not of primary importance for the overall narrative plot of Matthew. Such suggestions, however, bring up a host of questions: What was the reason for including 2:16–18 in the story? Why was the narrative constructed in this manner, and what is the narrative significance of the insertion?10 Is it possible that 2:16–18 is included because the author wants to remind the readers of a horrible historical incident and to make sense of it? A growing consensus holds that infancy narratives recount inauthentic stories in a historical style. Certainly in the case of the infanticide enacted by Herod in Bethlehem, it is quite difficult to prove whether this event ever actually occurred.11 In regards to Matt 2:16–18, the broader context of chapter 2 can be understood without these verses. Does that mean that 2:16–18 is the author’s own insertion or a redactor’s supplement? We are left with two options: either Matthew was a careless author viz. a bad narrator or Matt 2:16–18 plays another role in the larger infancy story. From the beginning of his Gospel, Matthew depicts a life of Jesus that is “according to the scriptures.” This is especially true for the period of the infant Jesus. As a result, the narrative is full of biblical fulfillment quotations.12 9  It is possible to understand 2:16–18 as an intentional insertion of a narrator or simply as a redactor’s supplement; cf., for example, Michael Knowles, Jeremiah in Matthew’s Gospel: The Rejected-Prophet Motif in Matthaean Redaction (JSNTSup 68; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1993), 43–52. 10  Actually, among other things, it is to be understood as Moses Haggadah. 11  See Manuel Vogel, Herodes: König der Juden, Freund der Römer (Biblische Gestalten; Leipzig: Biblische Verlagsanstalt, 2002), 327, who negates the historcal plausibility of this tradition. 12  For a definition of the term “fulfillment quote,” cf. the excursus in Luz, Matthäusevangelium, 190–99: “Unter ‘Erfüllungszitaten’ versteht man eine Reihe von Zitaten aus alttestamentlichen Propheten, die durch eine bestimmte formelhafte Wendung eingeleitet sind. . . . Die Erfüllungszitate sind also nicht ein absoluter Sonderfall innerhalb der AT-Zitate, sondern es gibt Übergänge zu den normalen Zitaten. Man darf sie also nicht als theologisches Sonderproblem betrachten, sondern muß sie im Zusammenhang mit dem mt Schriftverständnis überhaupt interpretieren” (ibid., 190). See also idem, “Intertexts in the Gospel of Matthew,” HTR 97 (2004): 119–37, an essay that explains different conceptions of intertextuality; the definition of “fulfillment quotation” also provides an explanation for their very dense usage in the infancy narrative, namely, they were used for didactic reasons: “A large number of quotations from the prophets have been specially tagged. They are introduced by the fulfillment formula, which was probably inspired by Mark 14:49, but specifically composed by Matthew. The evangelist inserted these tagged fulfillment quotations throughout his book, but he concentrated them in his prologue for didactic reasons” (ibid., 135–36).

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The insertion of such quotations in a narrative is a way of emphasizing the author’s interpretation rather than historical veracity. Even if the whole plot of Matt 2 can be compared to the Moses-Haggadah,13 the question arises whether Matt 2:18 is really necessary for Matthew’s plot. In other words, if the primary intention of the Gospel is to tell the story of the Messiah, one could ask, for example, why Matthew quotes Jer 38 (LXX; Jer 31 MT) and not a verse from the book of Exodus when he mentions the “Son out of Egypt” in 2:15. If all the fulfillment quotes have a meaning, how should Matt 2:16–18 be interpreted, and why is Jer 38:15 (LXX) quoted at this point in the narrative? Why does Matthew even need to quote Jer 38:15 (LXX)?14 1.2 Matthew’s Christology The numerous fulfillment quotations in Matt 1:23–3:3 seem to be connected to each other. Perhaps a good place to begin our analysis is by looking at the first explicit quotation (Matt 1:23) and its connection with Matt 1:21. The combination of both verses is crucial for an understanding of Matthew’s Christology15 and his ideas of the Messiah’s role in the history of his people. According to these verses, Mary’s newborn son Jesus will save his people from their sins and will be the Immanuel, the “God with us”:

13  For the Gospel of Matthew as a “rewritten” history of Israel, see recently Franz Tóth, Exodusdiskurse im Matthäusevangelium (Habilitationsschrift Zürich 2014; WUNT; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, forthcoming). 14  Luz characterizes aspects of this quotation as very special: referring back to Matt 2:7, the quote presents the plans of Herod alongside the extent of his cruelty. This passage also offers a contrast to the joy of the wise men in Matt 2:10. Luz also emphasizes that the infanticide does not happen because of God’s cruelty; God is not responsible for it (there is a slight difference in the manner in which the quotation is introduced—not to fulfill the scriptures, but just like the prophet has said). Nevertheless, the quotation is linked to the plans of God; if a mother of Israel, Rachel, is weeping, then Herod is revealed as the false king of Israel who is killing the children of Israel because of Jesus; cf. Luz, Matthäusevangelium, 180, 185. Peter Fiedler (Das Matthäusevangelium [THKNT 1; Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 2006], 65–66) indicates that by quoting Jer 38:15 (LXX), Matthew wants to point out the pain of the infanticide of Herod, and not of infanticide in general. As a second point, Matthew considers this as a form of punishment against Jewish authorities, who are misleading the people by refusing Christ. By using the Moses-typology, Matthew is showing a God and a Christ who are faithful to Israel, and a type of theology that promises comfort. 15  Cf. Luz, Matthäusevangelium, 197: Fulfillment quotations have no special content; they present the Matthean understanding of Christ, which includes “son of God” and “Immanuel.”

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21She will bear a son, and you shall call his name Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins.” 22All this took place to fulfill what the Lord had spoken by the prophet: 23“Behold, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall call his name Immanuel” (which means, God with us). (ESV) This second quote (i.e., Matt 1:23) is of such importance for the Gospel of Matthew that it forms an inclusio with the risen Christ’s final words: Be sure: I am with you until the end of the world (Matt 28:20, my translation).16 1.3 Matthew 1:21–3:3 A look at the other quotations that span Matt 1:21–3:3 is also important. Matthew 1:23 quotes Isa 7:14 (LXX),17 which is about Immanuel-Christology. Matthew 2:6 draws from Mic 5:1, 3 and 2 Sam 5:2 as intertexts and is talking about Jesus as the eschatological Davidic shepherd of Israel.18 Matthew 2:15 quotes Hos 11:1,19 which is about God’s love for Israel, His son. Matthew 2:18 explicitly quotes Jer 31:15—a verse about Rachel’s weeping over her children in an OT chapter relating to the New Covenant. Finally, Matt 2:23 refers to Isa 11:1,20 and Matt 3:3 quotes Isa 40:3 (LXX), which is located in a chapter about the “new exodus.” There is something of a subplot, a story behind the story, that takes shape based on the intertexts in the Matthean infancy story. This observation leads to an important question: Is there an element that connects all of these intertexts and if so, what is it?

16  Cf. Nicklas, “Jesusbilder,” 55: “Man mag das gesamte Matthäusevangelium als Antwort auf die Frage auffassen, was es bedeutet, dass Gott in Jesus bei uns ist.” 17  Regarding the concrete text form, see Menken, Matthew’s Bible, esp. 117–31, also published in NovT 43 (2001): 144–60. 18  For the impact of the Christological dimension, cf. Young S. Chae, Jesus as the Eschatological Davidic Shepherd (WUNT 2/216; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2006), esp. 183–89. 19  Menken, Matthew’s Bible, esp. 133–42, also published in Filología Neotestamentaria 12 (1999): 79–88. 20  It is a matter of discussion whether this strange quote goes back to the Samson stories in Judges or to Isaiah 11:1—the latter, however, seems to play a role in any case; cf. Tobias Nicklas, “Kein Simson im Neuen Testament,” in Samson, Hero or Fool? The Many Faces of Samson (eds. Erik Eynikel and Tobias Nicklas; Leiden: Brill, 2014), 129–43.

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I propose that the series of fulfillment quotations in Matt 1–3 presents a theology of Israel that is connected to a Christology,21 which can be specified as an “Immanuel-Christology.”22 If we take the contexts of all the intertexts in Matt 1–3 seriously and consider these alongside Matt 1:21 and 23, a picture emerges of how Matthew understands the role of the Messiah. This picture reminds us that God relates with Israel as his own child (Matt 1:21–23), as a son (Matt 2:15), and that out of Israel a ruler will come, the shepherd of God’s people. Additionally, the picture reminds of God’s plans to redefine and rebuild his covenant with Israel (Matt 1:23), and, finally, it interprets the story that ensues as the start of a new exodus (Matt 2:15; 2:19–3:3). According to Isa 40:3 LXX, however, God is understood in this exodus as the one who approaches the people (i.e., “prepare the way of the Lord; make straight in the desert a highway of our God”), and the people must be saved from their sins.23 The story of the messianic child is not only a Moses-Haggadah but also a foreshadowing of God’s plans with Israel. Taken together, all of these intertexts form a background story for the Matthean text, which presents a covenant theology realized in different ways and constructed with several elements. Based on the God-with-us quote (Matt 1:23), a subplot can be developed for the rest of the quotes in the infancy narrative. This plot—all the intertexts together—presents a God who is in covenant with Israel.24

21  See Moises Mayordomo, “Matthew 1–2 and the Problem of Intertextuality,” in Infancy Gospels: Stories and Identities (ed. Claire Clivaz; WUNT 281; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011), 257–79, here 279; Mayordomo even mentions the “scripture articulat[ing] a frame which makes the Matthean Jesus story meaningful” and sees the “dialogical structure inscribed in Matthew’s narrative [as] an agent of Christological reflection.” 22  Cf. Luz, Matthäusevangelium, 197, who argues that the fulfillment in the beginning of the Gospel of Matthew present the reader a kind of key for understanding the rest of the narrative. The other quotations in the rest of the text are just a remembrance of the first ones. The author is using the stylistic device of “repetition.” 23   Φωνὴ βοῶντος ἐν τῇ ἐρήμῳ ῾Ετοιμάσατε τὴν ὁδὸν κυρίου, εὐθείας ποιεῖτε τὰς τρίβους τοῦ θεοῦ ἡμῶν. Cf. Tobias Nicklas, Ablösung und Verstrickung: “Juden” und Jüngergestalten als Charaktere der erzählten Welt des Johannesevangeliums und ihre Wirkung auf den impliziten Leser (Regensburger Studien zur Theologie 60; Frankfurt a.M.: Regensburger, 2001), esp. 114. 24  For covenant theology in the Old Testament, see Tobias Nicklas, “Der Gott der frühen Christen,” in Gotteslehre (ed. Karlheinz Ruhstorfer; Theologie studieren 7; Paderborn: Schöningh, 2014), 73–131, esp. 87–89.

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The Relevance of Jeremiah 31:15 (i.e., 38:15 LXX) and its Context for the Infancy Gospel of Matthew25 Jeremiah 31 (i.e., Jer 38 LXX) deals with God’s restoration and consolation of his people. In this context a redefinition of the covenant is a crucial topic. Referring back to the Sinai covenant made with the fathers and subsequently broken by them, the text speaks about a renewed covenant. The new covenant means a new mode of covenant, one which comes directly from God and is written on the people’s hearts. This is done in combination with the forgiveness of sins (Jer 38:34 [LXX]). 1.4

31Behold, the days are coming, declares the Lord, when I will make a new covenant with the house of Israel and the house of Judah, . . . 34And no longer shall each one teach his neighbor and each his brother, saying, ‘Know the Lord,’ for they shall all know me, from the least of them to the greatest, declares the Lord. For I will forgive their iniquity, and I will remember their sin no more. (ESV) In fact, Jer 38:15 (LXX) is the only “negative” verse in a chapter that is otherwise positive. In the context of the quotation in Matthew, however, all of the positive ideas in Jer 38 seem totally absent—at least when read at the surface level. Considering the whole of Jer 38 (LXX) and the whole Matthean infancy narrative, another reading and interpretation are possible. Are the positive attributes of covenant in Jeremiah relevant for the beginning of the Gospel of Matthew? The insertion of Jer 38:15 (LXX) in the Matthean plot makes sense if one considers the context of the verse in Jeremiah. In other words, is the Matthean plot more plausible in combination with the context of chapter 38? 2

A New Plot—An Israel Theology from the Intertexts

The line of intertexts in Matthew develops a subplot and tells a story behind the narrative, namely a theology of Israel.26 One characteristic of the intertexts is the idea that “God is with us.” This motif connects all the 25  Cf. Davies and Allison, Matthew, 1:267, who also suggest reading Matt 1–2 through the lens of Jer 38 (LXX). 26  Cf. Frey, “The Reception of Jeremiah,” 504, who describes it as a “subtle ‘rewriting’ of Israel’s history in the programmatic opening of Matthew’s Gospel.”

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Christological aspects mentioned in the Matthean infancy story and brings them together.27 Is such a theology possible without at least an implicit theology of covenant and a relation between God and his people, that is, a God “who is with his people”? And can Jesus be portrayed teaching the Torah (Matt 5–7, especially 5:17– 20) in the Sermon on the Mount without at least an implicit idea of covenant? It is striking that “covenant” is not mentioned in the context of Matt 1–3, which should cause readers of Matthew to be wary of identifying it too quickly. Nevertheless, it is worth asking whether “covenant” theology may be implicit in Matthew, even when it is not explicitly mentioned. Otherwise, the covenant theology in Matt 26:20–29 (especially 26:28) would only be an isolated passage without any connection to the rest of the text.28 Apart from the eucharistic scene (26:20–29), the motif of covenant is never explicitly mentioned in Matthew, and in this scene it is not linked to Jer 38 (LXX), but to Exod 24:8. If, however, Matthew wants to describe how the “God with us” saves his people from their sins, one can read the Gospel of Matthew (and especially its infancy story) as a new “Israel story” (a “Geschichte of the new Israel”), which Matthew

OT Intertext

Christological-aspects

1:23 2:6 2:15 2:18 2:19–3:3 2:23

Isa 7:14 Mic 5:1.3 Hos 11:1 Jer 38:15 (LXX) Isa 40 (esp. v. 3) Isa 11:1

Name “Immanuel—God with us” Shepherd of my people Israel Son out of Egypt Rachel weeping for her children Second exodus Nazarene

27  Cf. Tobias Nicklas, “Versöhnung mit Israel im Matthäusevangelium” in BL (forthcoming 2015); cf. also Matthias Konradt, Israel, Kirche und die Völker im Matthäusevangelium (WUNT 215: Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2007), 320–22, connecting the same verses and themes (forgiveness of sins and the Immanuel-motif, completed with Jesus being the son of God and the Davidic messiah). 28  For some comments on covenant theology in this context, cf. Daniel Stöckl Ben Ezra, “Fasting with Jews, Thinking with Scapegoats: Some Remarks on Yom Kippur in Early Judaism and Christianity, in Particular 4Q541, Barnabas 7, Matthew 27 and Acts 27,” in The Day of Atonement: Its Interpretation in Early Jewish and Christian Traditions (eds. Thomas Hiecke and Tobias Nicklas; Themes in Biblical Narrative 15; Leiden: Brill, 2012), 165–87, who interprets this scene in connection with Yom Kippur.

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implicitly includes covenant theology. For this reason, connecting Matt 1:21, 23 with “new covenant” as expressed in Jer 38 (LXX)—which is alluded to in Matt 1:21 and quoted in 2:18—is helpful. Thus, I would go further than Frey in this case and draw the following conclusion: The implicit quotation from Jer 38:34 (LXX) in Matt 1:21 prepares for the explicit quotation of Jer 38:15 (LXX) in Matt 2:18. If one considers the “rescue from sin” (Matt 1:21) together with the “Immanuel” (Matt 1:23) as programmatic for the whole Gospel of Matthew, then the likelihood of a covenant or a covenant theology in this context becomes more plausible.29 If Jer 31 (MT) develops a covenant theology, and Matthew refers to this text in such a crucial context, then Matthew holds to a covenant theology as well—even if the term “covenant” is not explicitly mentioned. Jer 38 (LXX): Jer 38:31.34

Matt 1–2; 26:28: Matt 1:21.23

. . . διαθήσομαι τῷ οἴκῳ Ισραηλ καὶ τῷ οἴκῳ . . . αὐτὸς γὰρ σώσει τὸν λαὸν αὐτοῦ ἀπὸ Ιουδα διαθήκην καινήν . . .  τῶν ἁμαρτιῶν αὐτῶν Covenant and forgiveness of sins Rescue from sins and Immanuel (God with us) . . . ὅτι ἵλεως ἔσομαι ταῖς ἀδικίαις αὐτῶν καὶ . . . καλέσουσιν τὸ ὄνομα αὐτοῦ Ἐμμανουήλ, τῶν ἁμαρτιῶν αὐτῶν οὐ μὴ μνησθῶ ἔτι. ὅ ἐστιν μεθερμηνευόμενον μεθ’ ἡμῶν ὁ θεός. Matt 26:28 Covenant and forgiveness of sins τοῦτο γάρ ἐστιν τὸ αἷμά μου τῆς διαθήκης τὸ περὶ πολλῶν ἐκχυννόμενον εἰς ἄφεσιν ἁμαρτιῶν.

29  Cf. Nicklas, “Versöhnung mit Israel im Matthäusevangelium,” who describes the two aspects of covenant and the forgiveness of sins as topics that extend through the whole text of Matthew.

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Conclusion and Implications regarding Covenant Theology in the Gospel of Matthew

An implicit covenant theology is developed in the Gospel of Matthew. I would suggest, moreover, that Matt 2:18 references Jeremiah not simply to point to the promised “hope for restoration, or rather salvation,”30 nor simply to the fulfillment of all scriptures in Jesus, but also to the motif of the “(new) covenant.” It is no coincidence that Jeremiah happens to be the author of the quotation. For Matthew, Jeremiah is not simply “one of the prophets,” but rather the prophet with a covenant theology, presenting a God who is with his people and forgives their sins. Thus, in Matthew’s eucharistic scene, there is not just a covenantal aspect. Rather, the forgiveness of sin and covenant are combined, which is also the case in Jer 38 (LXX). And if the phrase “God with us” points to a covenant theology, the same connection can be found in Matt 1:21 and 23. This line of thought is in need of future research and leads to further questions: In light of Matthew’s context and argument, what is an adequate definition of covenant,31 and what kind of covenant is Matthew referring to in his Gospel?32 In this case I lean towards a broad definition that sees covenant as a relation between two partners, as well as a gift that is given by God, who is unremittingly faithful to his people.33 Thus, there may be Israel-theologies or “covenant theologies” where the term “covenant” is

30  Cf. Frey, “The Reception of Jeremiah,” 504. 31  The consideration of covenantal aspects in Matthew is uncommon. Hubert Frankemölle gives some examples and concludes: “Die Frage nach einer Bundestheologie bzw. nach einer bundestheologisch orientierten Grundkonzeption des MtEv zu stellen, ist in der Literatur keineswegs üblich und wird, wo sie dezidiert gestellt wird, z.T. übersehen, als unangemessen apodiktisch abgelehnt oder auch unzureichend wahrgenommen” (Hubert Frankemölle, “Der ‘ungekündigte Bund’ im Matthäusevangelium? oder: Von der Unverbrüchlichkeit zu Israel und zu den Völkern,” in Jüdische Wurzeln christlicher Theologie (ed. Hubert Frankemölle; BBB 116; Bodenheim: Philo, 1998), 329. 32  The Old Testament Scriptures offer different conceptions of covenant, and the issues discussed lead to a second question: What kind of Old Testament covenant is the Matthean writer referring to in his Gospel? The descriptions of Jesus teaching the Torah during the Sermon on the Mount (Matt 5:5–7) might indicate that Matthew envisions the covenant on Mount Sinai (Exod 24:8). 33  Cf. Nicklas, “Der Gott der frühen Christen,” 87–89.

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not used.34 In the biblical context, covenant theology might transcend the bounds of one simple term like “covenant”; the concept of covenant might rather be communicated through a number of phrases, themes, and OT citations.35 I would therefore concur with Hubert Frankemölle, who concludes that the Gospel of Matthew refrains from using the term “covenant” in some cases, but not the concept itself.36

34  Frankemölle, “Der ‘ungekündigte Bund,’ ” 330. 35  See C.-P. März, “Bund, III. Im Neuen Testament,” LTK 2 (3d. ed.; 2009, Sonderausgabe): 780–94; esp. 786, and referring to it, Frankemölle, “Der ‘ungekündigte Bund,’ ” 330. 36  “In der Bibel [sind] theologische Vorstellungen keineswegs immer mit bestimmten Begriffen gleichsam verklammert . . .” (Frankemölle, “Der ‘ungekündigte Bund,’ ” 330).

chapter 43

The Commissioning of Paul: Light from the Prophet Jeremiah on the Self-Understanding of the Apostle? Lutz Doering 1 Introduction In his letters,1 Paul styles himself an apostle, not a prophet. The difference can be nicely demonstrated in Rom 1:1–2: “Paul, a servant of Jesus Christ, called to be an apostle, set apart for the gospel of God, which he promised beforehand through his prophets in the holy scriptures” (NRSV). The apostle is set apart for the gospel of God (ἀφωρισμένος εἰς εὐαγγέλιον θεοῦ), which the prophets have announced beforehand (προεπηγγείλατο). Nevertheless, it has long been noted that Paul refers to the prophets of the Hebrew and / or Greek scriptures in the presentation of his own ministry.2 The question, however, is, how does he do so in detail? Does he follow one or several individual prophets of Israel’s scrip­ tures or rather “the prophetic mode,” whatever this may be? Scholars earlier in the 20th century were quite confident that Paul follows Jeremiah, as far as either outward similarities or sense of ministry or both are concerned;3 some

1  Apart from 1 (and 2) Thess, Phil and Phlm. 2  Cf. e.g. Ernst Lohmeyer, Grundlagen paulinischer Theologie (BHT 1; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1929) 201–203. 3  Hans Lietzmann, An die Galater (HNT 10; 3d ed.; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1932) 8, succinctly writes: “Sinn des Ganzen [sc. of Gal 1:15] durch Rm 9 20 f. vgl. Jer 1 5 klar: Pls weiß sich zum Heidenapostel prädestiniert.” That Paul followed Jeremiah in his sense of ministry (“Sen­ dungsbewußtsein”), either explicitly, implicitly, or merely factually, is forcefully argued by Karl Heinrich Rengstorf, “ἀποστέλλω κτλ.,” TWNT 1 (1933), 397–448 (here 440–41). Rengstorf observes, “Die parallelen Züge zwischen Paulus und Jeremia sind längst bemerkt, aber immer vorwiegend unter äußeren Gesichtspunkten und noch nicht unter dem Gesichtspunkt des Sendungsbewußtseins. Gerade hierin ist aber Jeremia Paulus’ großes Vorbild geworden” (440), and he concludes, “Die Frage, ob Paulus sich bewußt oder unbewußt in seinem Sen­ dungsbewußtsein an Jeremia angeschlossen hat, wird sich schwer oder gar nicht beant­ worten lassen. Der Anschluß ist aber da, und zwar sowohl in der Beurteilung des Leidens als gottgewollten Moments des Lebens als Apostel als auch in der ausschließlichen Konzentra­ tion auf die Wortverkündigung und eng verbunden damit im Verzicht auf jede enthusias­ tische Begründung des Apostolats” (441). © koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���7 | doi ��.��63/9789004320253_044

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thought he followed both Jeremiah and Deutero-Isaiah.4 In contrast, there has been a significant array of scholars, particularly—though not exclusively— writing in German from the 1960s onward, who question any relationship with Jeremiah and claim that Deutero-Isaiah is the exclusive prophetic model that set the scene for Paul. Programmatic in this respect was Traugott Holtz’s article, “Zum Selbstverständnis des Apostels Paulus”;5 a similar argument is made in the important study by Christian Wolff, Jeremia im Frühjudentum und Urchristentum,6 which is in general highly relevant for the study of Jeremiah traditions in antiquity.7 In recent years, the prophetic background for Paul’s self-understanding has received renewed and increased attention.8 Florian Wilk developed the abovementioned line of German-language scholars further and argued that Paul’s 4  E.g. Lohmeyer, Grundlagen, 201; Heinrich Schlier, Der Brief an die Galater (KEK 7; 14th ed.; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1971) 53 with n. 1. Similarly still Franz Mußner, Der Galaterbrief (HTKNT; 5th ed.; Freiburg i.Br.: Herder, 1988) 81–82; Werner Stenger, “Bio­ graphisches und Idealbiographisches in Gal 1,11–2,14,” in Kontinuität und Einheit: Für Franz Mußner (ed. Paul-Gerhard Müller and W. Stenger; Freiburg i.Br.: Herder, 1981) 123–40 (124, 132 with n. 20). Similarly, Martin Hengel and Anna Maria Schwemer, Paul between Damascus and Antioch: The Unknown Years (London: SCM, 1997), 95 write, “like the prophet Jeremiah and the servant of God he has been called by God to be a preacher to the Gentiles from his mother’s womb.” 5  Traugott Holtz, “Zum Selbstverständnis des Apostels Paulus,” TLZ 91 (1966): 321–30; repr. in idem, Geschichte und Theologie des Urchristentums: Gesammelte Aufsätze (ed. E. Reinmuth and C. Wolff; WUNT 57; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1991), 129–39. Holtz’s argumentation is accepted by Joseph Blank, Paulus und Jesus: Eine theologische Grundlegung (SANT 18; Munich: Kösel, 1968), 224–28, with the particular suggestion that Paul might have found a model for this in the missionary self-understanding of Diaspora Judaism in terms of the DeuteroIsaianic “servant.” 6  Christian Wolff, Jeremia im Frühjudentum und Urchristentum (TU 118; Berlin: AkademieVerlag, 1976). 7  See further Dietrich-Alex Koch, Die Schrift als Zeuge des Evangeliums: Untersuchungen zur Verwendung und zum Verständnis der Schrift bei Paulus (BHT 69; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1986), 35–48; Florian Wilk, Die Bedeutung des Jesajabuches für Paulus (FRLANT 179; Göttin­ gen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1998), 292–97. Outside German language scholarship, see Albert-Marie Denis, “L’investiture de la fonction apostolique par ‘apocalypse’: Etude théma­ tique de Gal 1, 16,” RB 64 (1957): 335–62, 492–515 (here 335); Barnabas Lindars, New Testament Apologetic: The Doctrinal Significance of the Old Testament Quotations (London: SCM, 1961) 223–24. 8  Nevertheless, it would be fair to say that the attention is still limited in comparison with other “Pauline” topics. Tobias Nicklas, “Paulus—der Apostel als Prophet,” in Prophets and Prophecy in Jewish and Early Christian Literature (ed. Joseph Verheyden, Korinna Zamfir and Tobias Nicklas; WUNT II/286; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2010), 77–104 (here 78 n. 5): “Vergli­ chen mit anderen Themen um Paulus ist dieses tatsächlich kaum berücksichtigt worden.”

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self-understanding was significantly shaped by his view of his apostolate as being announced in certain passages of (Deutero-) Isaiah.9 Other scholars, however, began to point away from the particular focus on individual prophets and claimed that Paul built on the prophetic tradition corporately. In an impor­ tant monograph, Karl-Olav Sandnes argues that “Paul used biblical language reminiscent of prophetic call narratives in the OT,” “presented his apostolate in prophetic terms in other texts too,” and “used this element of his apostolic self-understanding in situations which called for his authority.”10 According to Sandnes, “It is by recalling the tradition of the biblical prophets that Paul is able to lay a legitimate foundation for his apostolate.”11 And more recently, Jeffrey W. Aernie asks, Is Paul also among the Prophets? Studying 2 Corinthians and its autobiographical traits, Aernie concluded that the prophetic tradition “is not the sole entity upon which Paul constructs and explains his apostolic ministry,” but that it “is one of the conceptual backgrounds upon which Paul forms both his self-presentation and rhetoric.”12 More specifically, Paul takes up Mosaic, Isaianic, and Jeremianic traditions: “Paul’s purpose is not to define his ministry in terms of individual prophetic figures, but to position himself within the prophetic tradition corporately.”13 However, is this tendency to shift the emphasis from individual proph­ ets to a general affirmation of the prophetic model ultimately convincing? “Prophecy” is an ambiguous and multifaceted phenomenon, and the ques­ tion arises indeed whether Paul might have seen his ministry in light of one or several particular prophets of Israel. In distinguishing Mosaic, Isaianic, and Jeremianic motifs, Aernie himself recognizes that the individual profiles of these prophets might have had an impact on Paul, and he thus somewhat

9  Apart from Wilk, Die Bedeutung (see n. 7), see idem, “Paulus als Interpret der prophe­ tischen Schriften,” KD 45 (1999): 284–306 (esp. 298–300); idem, “Paulus als Nutzer, Interpret und Leser des Jesajabuches,” in Die Bibel im Dialog der Schriften: Konzepte intertextueller Bibellektüre (ed. Stefan Alkier and Richard B. Hays; NET 10; Tübingen: Francke, 2005), 93–116 (esp. 109–13). 10  Karl-Olav Sandnes, Paul—One of the Prophets? (WUNT II/43; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1991), 240. 11  Sandnes, Paul, 242. 12  Jeffrey W. Aernie, Is Paul also among the Prophets? An Examination of the Relationship between Paul and the Old Testament Prophetic Tradition in 2 Corinthians (LNTS 467; London: T&T Clark, 2012), 247. In the attention to both “self-presentation” and “rhetoric,” Aernie follows suggestions by Nicklas, “Paulus—der Apostel als Prophet.” 13  Aernie, Is Paul, 248.

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relativizes his own blurring of these profiles.14 The question concerning us here is whether—and if so, in what ways—the prophet Jeremiah plays a role in Paul’s apostolic self-understanding. We shall look at select passages from two letters in which Paul draws most clearly on his commissioning and the nature of his ministry: chiefly, Galatians and, more cursorily, 2 Corinthians, and conclude with the issue of letter writing, common to Jeremiah and Paul, but largely overlooked in this respect in previous scholarship. 2

Galatians 1:15–16a

In Gal 1:10–12, Paul programmatically asserts the independence of his gospel, which he received, not from any human being (παρὰ ἀνθρώπου), but through a revelation of the risen Christ (δι᾿ ἀποκαλύψεως Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ; 1:11–12). He bol­ sters this statement with a section that is considered one of the most auto­ biographical in Paul’s letters: Gal 1:13–2:10(14). This section initially looks back to Paul’s “earlier conduct ἐν τῷ Ἰουδαϊσμῷ,” namely that he exceedingly per­ secuted the “church of God” and that he advanced ἐν τῷ Ἰουδαϊσμῷ beyond many peers among his people because of his zeal for the traditions of his ancestors (1:13–14).15 The phrase ἐν τῷ Ἰουδαϊσμῷ does not mean “in Judaism”: it rather refers to the practice of a scrupulous “Jewish” lifestyle, as suggested by the occurrences of the term in 2 and 4 Maccabees.16 Thus, the following verses Gal 1:15–16a certainly do not describe an alleged “conversion” of Paul “from Judaism,” although there is an element of “turning away” or “change” that

14  See, e.g., Aernie, Is Paul, 175, where he affirms that Paul, inter alia, “positions his ministry within a Jeremianic framework.” 15  With, e.g., Hans Dieter Betz, Galatians: A Commentary on Paul’s Letter to the Churches in Galatia (Hermeneia; Philadelphia, PA: Fortress, 1979), 57, 67–68, I take the statements in 1:13b and 14 as two explications of Paul’s “earlier conduct ἐν τῷ Ἰουδαϊσμῷ.” 16  2 Macc 2:21; 8:1; 14:38 [bis]; 4 Macc 4:26. Cf. also the synagogue inscription of Stobi, CIJ I 694 (= IJO I, Mac1), and an epitaph from Rome or Portus, JIWE II 584. Cf. James D. G. Dunn, “Paul’s Conversion: A Light to Twentieth Century Disputes,” idem, The New Perspective on Paul: Collected Essays (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2005), 341–59 (esp. 351–54), who thinks of “Pharisaic Judaism” (353); similarly Martinus C. De Boer, Galatians: A Commentary (NTL; Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox, 2011), 85 (“The ‘Judaism’ referred to is the Pharisaic variety”). A. E. Harvey, “The Opposition to Paul”, Studia Evangelica 4/1 (ed. F. L. Cross; TU 102; Berlin: Akademie-Verlag, 1968), 319–32, on the one hand more generally and on the other more specifically, renders the term as “the Jewish way of life” (322).

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some scholars prefer to reference in terms of “conversion.”17 However, as long as we sufficiently account for this element, the category of “commissioning” or “call” appears appropriate, in particular as the presentation of the event in Gal 1:15–16a is concerned,18 which appears to be influenced by the call narratives of prophets in the Hebrew and Greek scriptures.19 Like prophetic call narratives, these verses constitute what may be termed a specimen of “ideal biography,” which concerns the installation of a person to a public ministry.20 Having thus been commissioned, Paul asserts that he remained independent from, and had only measured contact with, the Jerusalem authorities (1:16b–2:10). As a brief call report, Gal 1:15–16a can be compared with passages from both Jeremiah (Jer 1:5)21 and Deutero-Isaiah (Isa 49:1, 6–7; 42:6) in the version of the Septuagint.   Gal 1:15–16a

Jer 1:522

Isa 49:1, 5a, 6b

Isa 42:6

(15) Ὅτε δὲ εὐδόκησεν [ὁ θεὸς] ὁ ἀφορίσας με ἐκ κοιλίας μητρός μου καὶ καλέσας διὰ τῆς χάριτος αὐτοῦ

(5) Πρὸ τοῦ με πλάσαι σε ἐν κοιλίᾳ ἐπίσταμαί σε καὶ πρὸ τοῦ σε ἐξελθεῖν ἐκ μήτρας ἡγίακά σε,

(1) Ἀκούσατέ μου, νῆσοι, καὶ προσέχετε, ἔθνη· διὰ χρόνου πολλοῦ στήσεται, λέγει κύριος, ἐκ κοιλίας μητρός μου ἐκάλεσεν τὸ ὄνομά μου . . .

(6) ἐγὼ κύριος ὁ θεὸς ἐκάλεσά σε ἐν δικαιοσύνῃ καὶ κρατήσω τῆς χειρός σου καὶ ἐνισχύσω σε,

17  So Alan F. Segal, Paul the Convert: The Apostolate and Apostasy of Saul the Pharisee (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1990), 6 and passim. Cf. Michael Wolter, Paulus: Ein Grundriss seiner Theologie (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 2011), 23–25, who allows for both “Bekehrung” and “Berufung”: Paul reflected on the event in some texts in terms of the former and in others in terms of the latter. 18  With, e.g., Betz, Galatians, 64, 69–70; Wolter, Paulus, 24; cf. already Schlier, Galater, 53. 19  Cf. Wilk, Die Bedeutung, 293: “in Anlehnung an das Muster prophetischer Einsetzungsberichte.” 20  For the concept of “ideal biography” (Ideal-Biographie) cf. Klaus Baltzer, Die Biographie der Propheten (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1975) esp. 27–28 (drawing on the work of the Egyptologist Eberhard Otto); for the application to Gal 1:15–16a cf. W. Stenger, “Biographisches und Idealbiographisches.” 21  Rengstorf, TWNT 1, 440 n. 192, speaks of “Anspielung auf Jer 1, 5 durch Paulus selbst Gl 1, 15.” 22  Texts of Jer and Isa LXX follow the Göttingen Septuagint.

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Gal 1:15–16a

Jer 1:5

Isa 49:1, 5a, 6b

Isa 42:6

(16) ἀποκαλύψαι τὸν υἱὸν αὐτοῦ ἐν ἐμοί, ἵνα εὐαγ­ γελίζωμαι αὐτὸν ἐν τοῖς ἔθνεσιν . . . προφήτην εἰς ἔθνη ­τέθεικά σε.

(5a) καὶ νῦν οὕτως λέγει κύριος ὁ πλάσας με ἐκ κοιλίας δοῦλον ἑαυτῷ . . . (6b) ἰδοὺ τέθεικά σε εἰς ἔδωκά σε εἰς φῶς ἐθνῶν τοῦ εἶναί διαθήκην γένους,23 σε εἰς σωτηρίαν ἕως εἰς φῶς ἐθνῶν ἐσχάτου τῆς γῆς.

Gal 1:15–16a

Jer 1:524

Isa 49:1, 5a, 6b

Isa 42:6

(15) But when God, who had set me apart before I was born and called me through his grace, was pleased

(5) Before I formed you in the belly, I knew you, and before you came forth from the womb, I had consecrated you;

(1) Hear me, O islands, pay attention, O nations! After a long time it shall stand, says the Lord. From my mother’s womb he called my name. . . . (5a) And now thus says Lord, who formed me from the womb to be his own slave, . . . (6b) See, I have made you a light of nations, that you may be for salvation to the end of the earth.

(6) I, the Lord God, have called you in righteousness, and I will take hold of your hand and strengthen you;

(16) to reveal his Son to me, so that I might proclaim him among the Gentiles, . . .

a prophet to nations I had made you.

I have given you as a covenant to a race, as a light to nations,

23  The phrase εἰς διαθήκην γένους is also attested as a variant in Isa 49:6b (τέθεικά σε εἰς διαθήκην γένους, εἰς φῶς ἐθνῶν) but not adopted in the textual constitution of the Göttingen LXX. 24  Translations of Jer and Isa LXX follow NETS.

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As mentioned, several scholars, particularly among those writing in German, contest the impact of Jer 1:5 on Gal 1:15–16a and suggest that Paul developed his prophetic self-understanding exclusively from Deutero-Isaiah.25 The fol­ lowing arguments are being put forward: (1) Among prophetic texts, only Isa 49:1 features the phrase ἐκ κοιλίας μητρός μου, which corresponds precisely to Gal 1:15, while the wording in Jer 1:5 is different. (2) Among the relevant texts, the important verb καλεῖν, highly pertinent for Paul’s self-understanding (apart from Gal 1:15 see, for example, κλητὸς ἀπόστολος Rom 1:1, mentioned above, and 1 Cor 1:1), occurs only in Isa 49:1 and 42:6. (3) The Deutero-Isaianic “servant” announces salvation to the nations, whereas Jeremiah has been sent to pro­ claim to them predominantly perdition rather than salvation. (4) Since Isaiah, and here especially Deutero-Isaiah, is broadly referred to by Paul (22 and 13 times in his letters, respectively), it is probable that here, too, Paul is indebted to Isaiah, and not to Jeremiah. (5) While Isa 49:1, 5a, like Gal 1:15–16a, is worded in first-person autobiographical speech, Jer 1:5 is divine speech. However, most of these arguments are less straightforward than they ini­ tially seem: The last point (5) is not fully convincing, since the motif of “light for the nations” in the Isaianic passages is found only within statements simi­ larly worded as divine speech (Isa 49:6b; 42:6). Regarding point (2), καλεῖν with the meaning of “to call” (German berufen), as in Gal 1:15, is found only in Isa 42:6 but not in Isa 49:1. In the latter passage—at least according to the LXX— καλεῖν in conjunction with τὸ ὄνομά μου has the specific meaning “to name”; thus, the issue here is not the commissioning of the prophet but rather his being named. This might be different if Paul had access to a version closer to MT, where naming is mentioned alongside calling: ‫יְ הוָ ה ִמ ֶבּ ֶטן ְק ָראָנִ י ִמ ְמּ ֵעי ִא ִמּי‬ ‫ ִהזְ ִכּיר ְשׁ ִמי‬. As long as this is uncertain, we will have to assume that Paul would have conflated two different passages anyway;26 that is, Isa 49:1 alone would not be able to do the job. 25  Holtz, “Selbstverständnis”; Wolff, Jeremia, 139–40; Wilk, Die Bedeutung, 292–97 (Wilk additionally suggests an allusion to Isa 52:10 in Gal 1:16; ibid., 299–300); cf. idem, “Paulus als Interpret,” 298–99. 26   The difference between καλεῖν and καλεῖν τὸ ὄνομά μου is overlooked by Holtz, “Selbstverständnis,” 132–33, and also missed by Sandnes, Paul, 61, but noted by Wilk, Die Bedeutung, 292: “Allerdings läßt sich die ‘Berufungs’-Aussage nicht aus Jes 491 ableiten, da das Stichwort καλεῖν dort ebenfalls—anders als in Gal 115—auf das Geburtsereignis bezo­ gen ist. . . . Vielmehr rekurriert der Apostel mit dieser Aussage allem Anschein nach auf die Parallelstelle 426.” Somewhat surprisingly, Septuaginta Deutsch: Das griechische Alte Testament in deutscher Übersetzung (ed. Wolfgang Kraus and Martin Karrer; Stuttgart: Dt. Bibelgesellschaft, 2009) ad loc. decrees, without further discussion, “ ‘Den Namen rufen’ ist (schon in Ägypten) Formel für Berufung (vgl. MT),” thereby also harmonizing with MT.

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Point (3) is valid—as far as it goes—to suggest the relevance of the later chapters of Isaiah for Paul. However, it may be asked whether it, conversely, rules out Jeremiah because he would have predominantly been seen as a prophet of perdition for the nations. Thus, Hetty Lalleman has recently com­ mented, “to see Jeremiah as mainly proclaiming a message of doom to the nations is a rather one-sided view of his ministry: Jer. 1.10 speaks of ‘building and planting’ just as much as about judgment, and some prophecies to the nations do contain words of restoration and hope, e.g. Jer. 46.26; 48.47; 49.6 and 49.39.”27 In this respect, it is possible that Paul toned down or disregarded the aspect of judgment in Jeremiah’s commission narrative (Jer 1:10); in 2 Cor 10:8 and 13:10, as will be suggested below, he may have developed the antithesis “for building up and not for tearing down” in a creative adaptation of Jer 1:10, maintaining only the word of restoration from the Jeremianic pre-text. This would not be without precedent: if Paul draws indeed on Isa 49:1, 5a, 6b and 42:6 in Gal 1:15–16a he will likewise have disregarded both Isa 49:5b–6a28 and But καλεῖν τὸ ὄνομα δεινός is used in the LXX, apart from invoking the name (sc. of God; Deut 32:3), for naming a person (Gen 3:30; 16:11 etc.) or a place (Gen 19:22 etc.), for the calling out of a name (Ruth 4:14), and for giving names to things (Ps 147:7, with dative); cf. also Isa 43:1 with double accusative (‘I have called you [by] your name’). Despite the difference between καλεῖν and καλεῖν τὸ ὄνομά μου, Matthew Harmon still argues that “the volume of vocabulary/syntax, combined with the thematic coherence between Isa 49:1 and Gal 1:15, strongly suggests that Paul is alluding to Isa 49:1”: Matthew S. Harmon, She Must and Shall Go Free: Paul’s Isaianic Gospel in Galatians (BZNW 168; Berlin: de Gruyter, 2010), 79. 27  Hetty Lalleman, “Paul’s Self-Understanding in the Light of Jeremiah,” in A God of Faithfulness: Essays in Honour of J. Gordon McConville on His 60th Birthday (ed. Jamie A. Grant, Alison Lo and Gordon J. Wenham; LHB/OTS 538; London: T&T Clark, 2011), 96–111 (here 106). One might add Jer 3:17, “At that time Jerusalem shall be called the throne of the LORD, and all nations shall gather to it, to the presence of the LORD in Jerusalem, and they shall no longer stubbornly follow their own evil will,” or Jer 12:14–16, about the neighbours, “if they will diligently learn the ways of my people, to swear by my name, ‘As the LORD lives,’ as they taught my people to swear by Baal, then they shall be built up in the midst of my people.” 28  Significant are the following omissions: “to gather Jacob and Israel to him [sc. God] . . . (6) And he said to me, ‘It is a great thing for you to be called my servant so that you may set up the tribes of Jacob and turn back the dispersion of Israel.’ ” As compared with MT, LXX even strengthens the commission to Israel in v. 6 (MT: “It is too light a thing . . .”). David A. Baer, “ ‘It’s All about Us!’ Nationalistic Exegesis in the Greek Isaiah (Chapters 1–12),” in “As Those Who Are Taught”: The Interpretation of Isaiah from the LXX to the SBL (ed. Claire Mathews McGinnis and Patricia K. Tull; SBL.SymS 27; Atlanta, GA: SBL, 2006), 29–47, con­ siders it “likely” that the translator referred the function as a light to the nations “to his

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the phrase εἰς διαθήκην γένους (“as a covenant to a race,” as NETS renders it) in Isa 42:6,29 which both reference a ministry immediately directed to Israel and run counter to Paul’s deployment of the prophetic passages.30 Since Isaiah and Jeremiah are the only two scriptural prophets for whom an explicit sending “to the nations” is mentioned,31 and as long as Jeremiah’s message to the nations is not exclusively a negative one, I do not deem it convincing to rule him out as a prophetic model for Paul’s self-understanding. A similar conclusion emerges from critical interaction with point (4). Just because the impact of Isaiah on Paul is well attested, this does not mean that Jeremiah may not have played any role for him. Especially Holtz’s claim that Paul “hardly knew the Book of Jeremiah; at any rate, he does not use it with certainty,”32 can be contested, as we shall see in the following. Regarding point (1), the observation that Isa 49:1, ἐκ κοιλίας μητρός μου (cf. ἐκ κοιλίας in v. 5a), is closer to Gal 1:15 than Jer 1:5, πρὸ τοῦ με πλάσαι σε ἐν κοιλίᾳ, is certainly correct. However, it can be questioned that the focus in Jer 1:5 is on a time long before the forming of embryonic Jeremiah in his mother’s womb.33 First of all, the phrase is in parallelism with πρὸ τοῦ σε ἐξελθεῖν ἐκ μήτρας ἡγίακά role in bringing Diaspora Jews back from such distant places” (ibid., 31–32). This would evidently not have tied in with Paul’s vision of the salvation of both Gentiles and Jews. According to Arie van der Kooij, “ ‘The Servant of the Lord’: A Particular Group of Jews in Egypt according to the Old Greek of Isaiah: Some Comments on LXX Isa 49,1–6 and Related Passages,” in Studies in the Book of Isaiah: FS W. A. M. Beuken (BETL 132; Leuven: University Press and Peeters, 1997), 383–96, the “servant” who “shall be gathered” (Isa 49:5) “is to be equated, within the whole of LXX Isaiah, with ‘my people in Egypt’ ” (cf. 11:16) and should be identified with “the priest Onias (IV) . . . and his followers” (ibid., 394–95). 29  On this phrase see also above n. 23. It is understood to refer to Israel (in MT) by Baltzer, Biographie, 172, who takes the servant as an individual figure. However, LXX Isa 42:1 pres­ ents the servant “explicitly as ‘Jacob’ and ‘Israel’ ” (van der Kooij, “Servant,” 383), although van der Kooij raises the possibility (ibid., 394) that this likewise (see the preceding note) refers to a particular group within Israel, in which case “covenant to a race” can be taken as referring to Israel. 30  Thus correctly Wilk, Die Bedeutung, 295–296. We thus have to distinguish between Paul’s commission to the Gentiles and his reflections (in Rom 11:11, 13–14, 25–26) that his aposto­ late to the Gentiles is also a form of ministry to Israel. 31  As noted by Holtz, “Selbstverständnis,” 131–32. 32  Holtz, “Selbstverständnis,” 134: “Er hat das Jeremia-Buch offenbar kaum gekannt; jeden­ falls benutzt er es nicht sicher erkennbar.” Holtz himself relativizes this judgment some­ what when he concludes a review of potential passages from Jer echoed in Paul by conceding that Paul may have used Jer “doch nur in ganz geringem Maß” (135). 33  As seems to be suggested by Bernhard Duhm’s remark, “Längst ehe es einen Jer gab, war er schon ‘ein Gedanke Gottes.’ ” Quoted by Wilhelm Rudolph, Jeremia (HAT 1/12; 2nd ed.; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1958) 4–5.

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σε. Here, the reference is to coming out of the womb, and it can therefore be understood that both God’s “knowing” and his “sanctifying” of Jeremiah take place in the womb. While not necessarily synonymous, the parallelism suggests that the two divine actions are seen in close conjunction. That the focus may have been on God’s consecrating the prophet in the womb is suggested by the “Praise of the Fathers” (laus patrum) in Sirach 49:7b, which renders Jeremiah’s commissioning as follows:34 καὶ αὐτὸς ἐν μήτρᾳ ἡγιάσθη προφήτης ἐκριζοῦν καὶ κακοῦν καὶ ἀπολλύειν, ὡσαύτως οἰκοδομεῖν καὶ καταφυτεύειν.

who even in the womb had been consecrated a prophet, to pluck up and ruin and destroy, and likewise to build and to plant.

For the first stichos, the Hebrew text attested by ms. B35 of Ben Sira reads

‫והוא מרחם נוצר נביא‬. This wording, intriguingly, suggests that the phrases “in

the womb” and “from the womb” are potentially interchangeable, so that ἐν μήτρᾳ (Jer 1:5) and ἐκ κοιλίας (μητρός) (Gal 1:15; Isa 49:1, 5) should not be seen as semantically being too far apart from one another. The notion underlying both the Hebrew and the Greek version of Ben Sira / Sirach at this point is that the prophet was singled out (“made” or “consecrated,” respectively) by God in the womb. Whether this was the predominant view of Jeremiah’s call in Second Temple Judaism, is unclear, but it is at least one view attested in that period. Such an understanding of Jeremiah is conceptually comparable to Paul’s state­ ment, ὁ ἀφορίσας με ἐκ κοιλίας μητρός μου in Gal 1:15. In addition, Sandnes has justly pointed out that ἀφορίζειν in the Septuagint is “frequently used for places, times, animals or arrangements which are set apart and consecrated to the Lord,”36 and that the verb in these passages occurs in the context of ἁγιάζειν, ἅγιος, and ἁγίασμα.37 On account of this inher­ ent affinity between ἀφορίζειν and ἁγιάζειν, the phrase πρὸ τοῦ σε ἐξελθεῖν ἐκ μήτρας ἡγίακά σε in Jer 1:5 arguably provides a relevant background to Gal 1:15

34  Text according to the Göttingen Septuagint. Cf. Sandnes, Paul, 32–34, 63–64. 35  Bodleian Ms. Heb. e. 62. 36  Sandnes, Paul, 61. Cf. Exod 19:12; 29:27; Lev 20:25–26; 27:21; Ezek 45:1, 4. In the passages from Leviticus, the Hebrew equivalent is ‫ בדל‬hiphil, whereas in Exod 19:12 it is ‫ גבל‬hiphil, in Exod 29:27 ‫ נוף‬hophal, and in Ezek 45:1 ‫ רום‬hiphil. In Ezek 45:4, ἀφωρισμένους is an interpretative translation of ‫ומקדש‬. 37  ἁγιάζειν: Exod 19:14, 22, 23; 29:27; ἅγιος: Lev 20:26; 27:21; Ezek 45:1, 3, 4; ἁγίασμα: Ezek 45:2, 4.

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(ὁ ἀφορίσας με ἐκ κοιλίας μητρός μου)38 that is not covered by any of the Isaianic texts mentioned.39 Thus, the linguistic similarity of Gal 1:15 with Isa 49:1 should not mask the amount of material difference between the two texts: Isa 49:1 says nothing about the prophet being set apart by God in the womb. While it is likely that Isa 49:1, 5a, 6b has influenced Paul, Jer 1:5 provides the better fit regarding this motif. In addition, one could argue that the sequence of individual events in the calling of both figures points to a greater similarity of Paul’s call with that of Jeremiah, as compared with the Isaianic “servant.” Over against the relatively straightforward prenatal setting apart or sanctifying of Jeremiah and Paul, respectively, and their later inauguration into their ministry, the reflection on the commissioning of the Isaianic “servant” in Isa 49:1–6 is much more complex, consisting (according to the form attested in the Septuagint) of the account before the islands and nations of the servant’s naming in womb (v. 1), his equipping (v. 2) and confirmation as “slave” (v. 3), his stating the fruitless­ ness of his task (v. 4), then a flashback to God’s forming the servant from the womb to be a slave, with the brief to gather Jacob and Israel to him, inter­ spersed by the servant’s statement that he will be gathered and glorified before the Lord (v. 5), and offset by the divine saying that it is “a great thing for you to be called my servant, to establish the tribes of Israel and to bring back the dis­ persion of Israel”; probably as rationale for this greatness, the servant’s instal­ lation as light of the nations is given (v. 6). Reception of this passage by Paul requires a considerable reduction of this complexity and especially, as we have already seen, disregard for the Israel-related aspects of the servant’s task. The inauguration account of Isa 42:6(–9)40 is more concise, but it does not refer to a calling in the womb, and it equally requires the bracketing of the task related to Israel (“covenant to a race,” see above). Florian Wilk has suggested that Paul has not simply modelled his call on that of the Isaianic “servant” but rather viewed his own call announced by Isaiah. This proposal may be possible; but it can base itself predominantly on the passage of Isa 49:1, 5–6, which on its own, as we have seen, is insufficient to account for all aspects of Paul’s account. Paul will therefore additionally have drawn on texts in which a prophetic figure 38  Cf. also Rom 1:1 ἀφωρισμένος εἰς εὐαγγέλιον θεοῦ. 39  The specific relevance of Jer 1:5 for Gal 1:15 in this respect is also recognized by, e.g., Schlier, Galater, 53 nn. 1–2; Betz, Galatians, 70 n. 134. Holtz, however, refers to Isa 41:9 and deems ἐξελεξάμην σε a better comparandum to ὁ ἀφορίσας με than Jer’s ἡγίακά σε; yet, Isa 41:9 clearly refers to Israel, and nothing is said about the election happening before birth. 40  Cf. Baltzer, Biographie, 171: Isa 42:1–9 “ist die Darstellung einer Einsetzung. . . . Vv. 1–4 enthält die Beratung über die Person, Vv. 5–9 die eigentliche Einsetzung.”

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is commissioned, and it is in light of the foregoing likely that Jeremiah plays a role here. In sum, I am inclined to concur with Sandnes in his conclusion, “It is . . . narrowminded to exclude the significance of Jeremiah for Paul.”41 In my view, Jeremiah is even more crucial than Sandnes allows for in the context of his thesis that Paul conceived of his ministry more generally “in prophetic terms.”42 Jeremiah might also have been formative for Paul in the apologetic use of his call narrative since he is the prophet who confronts the issue of false proph­ ets most clearly. Jeremiah has to defend his prophecy amidst controversy in Jerusalem (for example, Jer 20:10–11; 26:7–17). In doing so, he emphasizes that he has been “sent” by God.43 In his struggle for authority and legitimacy with other prophetic figures, he addresses the issue of false prophecy head-on: these prophets have not been “sent” by God;44 they have not stood in the “council” (‫—סֹוד‬ὑποστήματι) of the Lord—because had they stood in it they would have preached his word;45 they proclaim lies in that what they prophesy contradicts what will happen.46 A true prophet will be recognized by the fulfilment of the events he has prophesied,47 and the false prophets contradicting Jeremiah’s prophecy will be punished by God.48 In Gal 1:13–2:10(14), Paul, in turn, argues for the authority of his ministry with the independence of his gospel from human agency and its direct attribu­ tion to a revelation of the risen Christ. This can fruitfully be compared with Jeremiah’s theme of false prophecy.49 The ἕτερον εὐαγγέλιον preached by those who attempt to pervert the gospel of Christ, which the Galatians addressees are so willing to follow (Gal 1:6–7), can be compared with the false prophecies uttered by Jeremiah’s competitors. In both cases, claims of divine origin as such are not decisive: even if Paul or an angel from heaven preached against the gospel communicated by Paul (παρ᾿ ὃ εὐηγγελισάμεθα ὑμῖν), they would be 41  Sandnes, Paul, 243. 42  See above, at nn. 10–11, and Sandnes, Paul, 240–46. 43  Jer 26 [33]:12: ‫—יְ הוָ ה ְשׁ ָל ַחנִ י‬Κύριος ἀπέστειλέν με; 26 [33]:15: ‫יכם‬ ֶ ‫— ֶב ֱא ֶמת ְשׁ ָל ַחנִ י יְ הוָ ה ֲע ֵל‬ἐν ἀληθείᾳ ἀπέσταλκέ με κύριος πρὸς ὑμᾶς. 44  Jer 14:14–16; 23:21; 27 [34]:15; 28 [35]:15; 29 [36]:9, 31. 45  Jer 23:18–22. 46  Jer 27 [34]:9–10, 14–18. 47  Jer 28 [35]:5–17. 48  Jer 29 [36]:8–9, 15, 21–29, 30–32. 49  Cf. F. F. Bruce, “Further Thoughts on Paul’s Autobiography (Galatians 1:11–2:14),” in Jesus und Paulus: FS Werner Georg Kümmel (ed. E. Earle Ellis and Erich Gräßer; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1975), 21–29; Sandnes, Paul, 63, 66–68; Lalleman, “Paul’s SelfUnderstanding,” 101–3.

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anathema (1:8). Although the criterion of the true gospel is different from that of true prophecy, the problem of competing claims is similar. As Bruce states, “Paul was not a prophet in the sense that Jeremiah was, and he could not appeal in the same way to the verdict of the coming days; but he could in another fashion make the fulfilment of his message the criterion of its validity. Not only had it produced a revolution in his own life, but the Galatian Christians them­ selves, as he reminds them at the beginning of the third chapter, had experi­ enced through the gospel of grace the liberating power of the Spirit.”50 3

Second Corinthians 10–1351

Another important section of a letter in which Paul defends his apostleship by reference to “true” and “false” agents of God is 2 Cor 10–13, which is perhaps (part of) a letter distinct from 2 Cor 1–9.52 Here, Paul reacts against a group of newly arrived “apostles,” which he calls “pseudo-apostles” (ψευδαπόστολοι, 2 Cor 11:13). Apart from the connection between the notions of pseudoapostles and pseudo-prophets (see above), there are a couple of further Jeremianic motifs in these chapters: (1) Both at the beginning and at the end of this section, Paul speaks about “our authority which the Lord has given for building you up and not for tearing you down” (εἰς οἰκοδομὴν καὶ οὐκ εἰς καθαίρεσιν ὑμῶν).53 This is conceivable as an antithetical adaptation of the opposition between building and destroying as part of the authoritative mission of Jeremiah (Jer 1:10).54 This opposition recurs in relation to God’s work in the people of Israel and the nations throughout the book of Jeremiah. Although in the Septuagint of Jer 1:10 the relevant verbs are translated as ἐκριζοῦν καὶ κατασκάπτειν καὶ ἀπολλύειν καὶ ἀνοικοδομεῖν καὶ καταφυτεύειν, we do find the opposition of (ἀν)οικοδομεῖν and καθαιρεῖν, within 50  Bruce, “Further Thoughts,” 25. 51  In order to prevent misunderstanding, in what follows I do not discuss quotations and echoes of Isaiah (e.g. in 2 Cor 6:1–2)—not because I do not deem them relevant for Paul but because this contribution focuses on the potential significance of Jeremiah for Paul. 52  This discussion cannot be taken up here but is not strictly necessary for our purposes. A recent overview from a papyrological point of view is Peter Arzt-Grabner, 2. Korinther (Papyrologische Kommentare zum Neuen Testament 4; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2013), 71–116 (without firm conclusion). 53  2 Cor 10:8 περὶ τῆς ἐξουσίας ἡμῶν ἧς ἔδωκεν ὁ κύριος εἰς οἰκοδομὴν καὶ οὐκ εἰς καθαίρεσιν ὑμῶν; 13:10 κατὰ τὴν ἐξουσίαν ἣν ὁ κύριος ἔδωκέν μοι εἰς οἰκοδομὴν καὶ οὐκ εἰς καθαίρεσιν. 54  Cf. Lalleman, “Paul’s Self-Understanding,” 106–9; Aernie, Is Paul?, 166–75.

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other parts of the book, in LXX Jer 24:6; 38:28; 49:10; 51:34. Aernie suggests that Paul “is, more generally, referring to the overarching theme of restoration and judgment that moves throughout the course of Jeremiah’s poetic and prosaic language.”55 (2) In 2 Cor 10:17, we find a condensed citation of LXX Jer 9:22–23: ὁ καυχώμενος ἐν κυρίῳ καυχάσθω “Let the one who boasts, boast in the Lord.” The same quotation occurs also in 1 Cor 1:31, where it is introduced by καθὼς γέγραπται and concludes a section about God’s electing the foolish and the weak. Thus, there is a connection with LXX Jer 9:22–23 beyond the excerpt quoted: the references to the wise and to the strong are missing from the excerpt (in italics) and can only be established from the full citation of the Jeremianic verses (μὴ καυχάσθω ὁ σοφὸς ἐν τῇ σοφίᾳ αὐτοῦ, καὶ μὴ καυχάσθω ὁ ἰσχυρὸς ἐν τῇ ἰσχύι αὐτοῦ).56 This makes it rather unlikely that Paul would have worked with a testimonia quotation or a proverbial, oral saying.57 In light of the other repercus­ sions with Jeremianic themes as well as of specific pragmatic affinities it is also more likely that Paul took this passage from Jeremiah rather than LXX 1 Sam 2:10 / Ode 3:10, where it is quoted as well.58 In 2 Cor 10:17, Paul uses the same quotation to conclude a section about “the distinction he perceives between his own legitimate standard and that of his opponents.”59 Argumentatively, the foundation for the quotation is laid in the following verse 18 (introduced by 55  Aernie, Is Paul?, 167. 56  Cf. Gail R. O’Day, “Jeremiah 9:22–23 and 1 Corinthians 1:26–31: A Study in Intertextuality,” JBL 109 (1990) 259–267; and Christopher D. Stanley, Paul and the Language of Scripture: Citation Technique in the Pauline Epistles and Contemporary Literature (MSSNTS 74; Cambridge: CUP, 1992) 187. For an extensive argumentation for Paul’s indebtedness to Jer 9:22–23, cf. Ulrich Heckel, Kraft in Schwachheit: Untersuchungen zu 2. Kor 10–13 (WUNT 2/56; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1993) 159–214. 57  So Holtz, “Selbstverständnis,” 134: “. . . dürfte die Vermutung berechtigter sein, daß Paulus das geprägte Wort dem lebendigen Gebrauch, nicht aber einer schriftlichen Quelle in irgendeiner Form entnommen hat.” In this, he is followed by Koch, Die Schrift, 36. Koch does pay attention to the literary context but wonders why Paul, given the context, does not quote the words italicized above. However, this may precisely be the way in which Paul weds textual excerpt and literary context. It certainly suggests that he knew the liter­ ary context of the excerpt. 58  Cf. Heckel, Kraft in Schwachheit, 172 n. 164: “da der Apostel mit dem Zitat 1. Kor 1,31 und 2. Kor 10,17 die Gemeindeglieder . . . nicht wie 1. Sam 2,10 LXX zum Tun von Recht und Gerechtigkeit auffordern, sondern an das Handeln des Herrn erinnern will (vgl. 1. Kor 1,30; 2. Kor 10,8; 12,9), steht der Wortlaut von Jer 9,22f der paulinischen Intention näher und verdient als Quelle den Vorzug gegenüber jenem Septuaginta-Einschub im Lobgesang der Hanna.” Jer 9:22–23 is also preferred as the source text by Wilk, Die Bedeutung, 102. 59  Aernie, Is Paul?, 181.

558

Doering

οὐ γάρ): the one who is approved is the one whom the Lord commends, not the one who commends himself. Thus, this section shows that Jeremiah, far from being a book hardly known to Paul, was a prophetic text he drew on in contexts in which he defended his apostleship. 4

Second Corinthians 3:2–6

This segment of the letter initially refers to the congregation as a “letter of Christ,” “written in our heart,” “not with ink but with the Spirit of the liv­ ing God”. By this, Paul is in possession of the right recommendation. Paul is involved in this letter insofar as the letter is διακονηθεῖσα ὑφ᾿ ἡμῶν “taken care of by us” (2 Cor 3:2–3). This development of the metaphor may point to Paul’s imagined function of a scribe or, perhaps even more apposite in view of ancient practicalities of letter writing, a letter carrier.60 Consequently, Paul denies that his sufficiency comes of and from himself. Rather, “our sufficiency is from God, to be ministers of a new covenant, not of the letter but of the Spirit. For the letter kills but the Spirit gives life” (2 Cor 3:5–6). Several scholars have suggested that Paul is here referring to Jer 31 [LXX 38]:31, 33 in combina­ tion with Ezek 36:26–27.61 Again, this has been questioned by Wolff and Koch: Wolff thinks that the motif of the stone tablets is an allusion to Exod 24:12; 31:18; 34:1, whereas he argues that the “writing on the tablets of the heart” takes up Prov 3:3 (B, A, Σ, Θ).62 Koch claims63 that Jer 31 [38]:33 is not a good fit for 2 Cor 3:3 since it merely mentions ἐπὶ καρδίας αὐτῶν γράψω, not καρδίαι σάρκιναι. 60  Paul’s imagined role as carrier has been suggested by Hans Lietzmann, An die Korinther I–II (HNT 9; 5th ed., supplemented by Werner Georg Kümmel; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1969), 110, whereas Kümmel in his supplementary note, ibid., 199, prefers the image of the scribe because he deems “das Bild von der Überbringung des Briefes durch Paulus noch weniger vorstellbar.” However, one type of the ancient letter of recommendation would have typically been delivered by the person commended; cf. the type “Empfehlungsbriefe mit Vorstellung” in Rodolfo Buzón, “Die Briefe der Ptolemäerzeit: Ihre Struktur und ihre Formeln” (Ph.D. diss., University of Heidelberg, 1984), 48, and the discussion of relevant letters ibid., 54–58. Cf. now Arzt-Grabner, 2. Korinther, 171–77, 270–76, and the conclusion ibid., 277: “Von der Alltagssprache der Papyri her kann Paulus hier im metaphorischen Sinn als Briefbote verstanden werden.” 61  Scott J. Hafemann, Paul, Moses, and the History of Israel: The Letter/Sprit Contrast and the Argument from Scripture in 2 Corinthians 3 (WUNT 81; Tübingen; Mohr Siebeck, 1995), 120 n. 98; Aernie, Is Paul?, 161–66. 62  Wolff, Jeremia, 134–37. 63  Koch, Die Schrift, 45–46.

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Without paying attention to the coherence between 2 Cor 3:3 and 3:6, he addi­ tionally—and thus somewhat atomistically—claims that Paul adopted the expression “new covenant,” not from Jer 31 [38]:31, but rather from the eucha­ ristic tradition (1 Cor 11:25). However, it is questionable whether Prov 3:3 with its advice from teacher to pupil, “bind them [sc. “my teaching” and “my com­ mandments”] around your neck and write them on the tablet of your heart,” is really the focus in this heilsgeschichtliche argumentation. If we have to look for another scriptural reference, then Jer 31:33 with its mention of a writing of the laws into the hearts becomes a vitally important link.64 Thus, despite the term “new covenant” being also available in the eucharistic paradosis, Paul seems to have drawn on, and conflated, Jer 31:31, 33; Ezek 36:26–27; and the stone tab­ lets of the Exodus pericope in the development of his argumentation in 2 Cor 3:2–6.65 As Richard Hays has put it, “The reader who follows these echoes will be led into a thesaurus of narrative and promise; only there, in the company of Moses, Jeremiah and Ezekiel, does Paul’s metaphor of the Corinthians as a ‘let­ ter from Christ’ disclose its true wealth.”66 Hays further points to the possibil­ ity that the connection between Jer 31 and the stone tablets of Exodus in Paul may be prepared by the functioning of Jer 31:31–39 “as the haftarah correlated with the Torah reading of Exod 34:27–35 in the Palestinian triennial lectionary cycle. Thus, the linkage of these texts might already have been traditional in the Judaism of Paul’s time, though his distinctive interpretation of the text was certainly far from traditional.”67 However, although the Prophets were appar­ ently read in the first century ce, at least in milieus known to Luke (cf. Luke 4:16–20; Acts 13:15, 27), we do not know at all how firm the reading assignments to specific Torah portions were at the time.68 64  See Hafemann, Paul, 120 n. 98: “But contra Wolff and Koch, it must be emphasized that 3:6 combines Ezek. 36 with Jer. 31 and that the reference to the Law as γράμμα is explicable only on the ground of Jer. 31, and not Ezek. 36, since only Jer. 31:31 ff. offers the reason for the need of the new covenant summarized in Paul’s use of the ‘letter’ motif.” 65  It has also been suggested that “Paul’s primary reference to the call of Moses in 2 Cor. 2.16 by means of the discussion of sufficiency may also represent a secondary reference to the call of Jeremiah since the ministry of Jeremiah is also shaped by the essential character­ istics of the prophetic call tradition” (Aernie, Is Paul?, 160). For the issue of sufficiency in relation to the call narratives of Moses and Jeremiah as well as to 2 Cor 2:16, cf. Hafemann, Paul, 47–62. 66  Richard B. Hays, Echoes of Scripture in the Letters of Paul (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1989), 127–28. 67  Hays, Echoes, 132. 68  A case for a certain sequence of haftarot in Philo of Alexandria (though not containing Jer 31) has been made by Naomi G. Cohen, Philo’s Scriptures: Citations from the Prophets

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Jeremiah and Paul as Letter Writers

The reference to a “letter” in the previous section leads us to a further aspect that has, to my knowledge, not yet been considered in discussions about Paul’s potential indebtedness to Jeremiah. Both Jeremiah and Paul were letter writ­ ers. What is more, Jeremiah is the only letter-writing Schriftprophet,69 and his epistolary activity according to Jer 29 [36]:1–15, (18–20 MT), 21–23, 30–32 (cf. 51 [28]:59–64) has set the model for several letters pseudepigraphically attaching themselves to either Jeremiah (Epistle of Jeremiah LXX; 4Q389 = 4QApocrJer Cd; 4 Bar. 7:23–29[24–34]; Tg. Jer 10:11) or his scribe Baruch (Baruch LXX; 2 Bar. 78–86; 4 Bar. 6:17–23 [19–25]). Of these, Paul knew Jeremiah and may have known Ep Jer and also Bar LXX; 4Q389 shows more generally that Jeremianic traditions, and among them the tradition of Jeremiah as letter writer, were alive in the late Second Temple period. Both the prophetic persona of Jeremiah and his book do not become relevant only after 70 ce,70 and this opens again, from another perspective, the possibility that Paul, too, engaged with this prophet. In a recent monograph, I have argued, against a dominant trend in New Testament scholarship, for taking Jewish letter writing more seri­ ously when evaluating the beginnings of early Christian epistolography.71 This and Writings. Evidence for a Haftarah Cycle in Second Temple Judaism (JSJSup 127; Leiden: Brill, 2007). However, this should be compared with the more cautious stance in Ellen Birnbaum’s review of the book, JJS 60 (2009) 331–34, especially 332–33: “it is far from cer­ tain that this reading cycle existed in Philo’s day or that he knew these quotations from a liturgical context.” 69  Although Josephus, Ant. 10:106, going beyond the scriptural Vorlage, makes Ezekiel “write down” his prophecies about the calamities that were coming upon the people and “send” the written record to Jerusalem. Note that Josephus does not refer to the tradition of Jeremiah’s letter to the Babylonian golah. This is all the more surprising in view of the well-known Jeremiah typology deployed by Josephus (who also styles himself as a skilled letter writer outsmarting his adversaries), as shown by the references below, n. 87; for possible reasons cf. Lutz Doering, Ancient Jewish Letters and the Beginnings of Christian Epistolography (WUNT 298; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2012) 278–80. 70  Against the earlier view argued for by Wolff, Jeremiah, 66–68, 188–92, echoed by Koch, Die Schrift, 46: “So werden—anders als Jesaja und das Zwölfprophetenbuch—Jeremia, Ezechiel und Daniel in der jüdischen Literatur vor 70 n. Chr. ausgesprochen selten zi­tiert.” If we allow for other forms of intertextuality than “zitiert,” this will now have to be modi­ fied in light of the—infelicitously—so-called pseudo-prophetic texts from Qumran (4QApocrJer A–C; 4QpsEzek; 4QpsDan). 71  Doering, Ancient Jewish Letters.

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applies also and particularly to Paul,72 who in many ways founded and shaped early Christian letter writing. In the present context, I want to focus on the potential relevance of the prophetic-paraenetic letters found in the JeremiahBaruch tradition73 for Paul’s letter writing. Both Jeremiah / “Jeremiah” / “Baruch” and Paul write to communities, not individual addressees.74 Both Jeremiah / “Jeremiah” / “Baruch” and Paul write under a divine commission, so that their work can be considered Auftragsarbeit, work commissioned by God.75 Emphatically, Paul deploys the title “apostle” in most of his letters,76 and he argues for the divine origin and authorization of his apostolate in his correspondence with the addressees. In his usual salutation, “God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ”77 are referenced as the sources of “grace and peace” extended. It is thus clear that Paul writes his letters as part and parcel of his 72  Apart from Doering, Ancient Jewish Letters, 377–428, see Irene Taatz, Frühjüdische Briefe: Die paulinischen Briefe im Rahmen der offiziellen religiösen Briefe des Frühjudentums (NTOA 16; Fribourg, Switz.: Universitätsverlag; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1991), esp. 110–14. However, Taatz (ibid., 111) follows her teacher Holtz in questioning Paul’s familiarity with, and use of, the book of Jeremiah, without further arguments. Cf. further François Vouga, “Der Brief als Form der apostolischen Autorität,” in Studien und Texte zur Formgeschichte (ed. K. Berger et al.; TANZ 7; Tübingen: Francke, 192) 7–58 (esp. 12–16); Ulrich Mell, “Der Galaterbrief als urchristlicher Gemeindeleitungsbrief,” in Paulus und Johannes: Exegetische Studien zur paulinischen und johanneischen Theologie und Literatur (ed. D. Sänger and U. Mell; WUNT 198; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2006) 353–80; Christina Hoegen-Rohls, Zwischen Augenblickskorrespondenz und Ewigkeitstexten: Eine Einführung in die paulinische Epistolographie (BTS 135; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 2013) 34–39. 73  These letters are tradition-historically related. For reasons that have to do with the overall character of the respective work and the imagined location of the character(s), some of these letters figure under the name of Jeremiah, others under that of Baruch. For the pres­ ent comparison with Paul’s letters, I shall consider them as a group. 74  In a modified form, this is true even for the letters in 4 Bar. 6 and 7 despite the address being in the singular, since these letters have wider ramifications for the people. See Doering, Ancient Jewish Letters, 253–62. 75  So Christoph Burchard with respect to Jas 1:1: Christoph Burchard, Der Jakobusbrief (HNT 15/I; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2000), 48, also referring to Ep Jer inscriptio (see presently). Similarly for Paul, Vouga, “Brief,” 16, commenting on the connection between the motifs in the prescript of Paul’s letters (except for 1 Thess) with his claim of authority as well as the authority of his gospel: “Der Brief ist ‘im Auftrag’ geschrieben und zugesandt und soll als solcher gelesen werden.” 76  See above, n. 1. 77  Except for 1 Thess; Col only: “from God our Father.” Cf. also the similar formulae in the Pastoral Letters.

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apostolic ministry. Mutatis mutandis, the idea of divine order is also present in some of the Jeremiah-Baruch letters, although its instantiation changes over time: Initially, the prophet Jeremiah conveys the contents of his letter as divine speech with the Botenformel, “Thus speaks YHWH” (Jer 29 [36]:4). In the Epistle of Jeremiah, the relation becomes less immediate, but Jeremiah still writes “as it was commanded (ἐπετάγη) to him by God” (Ep Jer inscriptio). And in 4 Bar 6:13–15 [16–18], an angel instructs Baruch on what he should write to Jeremiah (γράψον 6:13 [16]), although the contents of the letter Baruch actually will write deviate to no small degree from the angel’s suggestion; nevertheless, Baruch claims explicitly that it is the words of the angel that he is sending in this letter (6:19 [22]). Overall, it seems worthwhile looking at Paul’s letter writ­ ing activity in the context of prophetic, and this means, within ancient Jewish tradition, predominantly “Jeremianic,” letter writing.78 6 Conclusion There can be no question that Paul drew to a large extent on Isaiah, and here especially on the chapters attributed to Deutero-Isaiah, for the presentation of his self-understanding; others have studied this in detail,79 and, in any event, a volume devoted to “Jeremiah’s scriptures” would not be the place to revisit this beyond the minimal account necessary here, as already stated above. However, it appears that the extreme scepticism exhibited by scholars like Holtz and Wolff as to Paul’s familiarity and interaction with both the book and the literary as well as traditional persona of Jeremiah is unwarranted. Arguably, Paul alludes to the commissioning not only of the Isaianic Servant but also of Jeremiah when arguing for the divine origin of his gospel of Jesus Christ in Gal 1:15–16a, with the important theme of being prenatally “set aside” being most likely inspired by God’s “sanctifying” Jeremiah before his birth. Further, 78  Thus, the self-stylization of the letter writer (“Baruch”) as ὁ δοῦλος τοῦ θεοῦ in 4 Bar. 6:17 [19] may shed light on the deployment of phrases like “slave of God,” “slave of Christ Jesus” or some variant thereof in New Testament letter prescripts (Rom 1:1 δοῦλος Χριστοῦ Ἰησοῦ, κλητὸς ἀπόστολος; Phil 1:1 δοῦλοι Χριστοῦ Ἰησοῦ; Tit 1:1 δοῦλος θεοῦ, ἀπόστολος δὲ Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ; Jas 1:1 θεοῦ καὶ κυρίου Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ δοῦλος; Jude 1 Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ δοῦλος). Rather than assuming literary dependence between all of the New Testament letter writers, this may suggest a traditional self-stylization, taking up the scriptural designation of prophets as “slaves of God”; cf. in greater detail Doering, Ancient Jewish Letters, 397–98. 79  See in particular Wilk, Die Bedeutung; Aernie, Is Paul?

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he likely draws on the Jeremianic theme of true versus false prophecy / proph­ ets in both Galatians and 2 Corinthians. He quotes from Jer 9:22–23 twice in contexts in which he contrasts boasting in human and divine realities (1 Cor 1:31; 2 Cor 10:17), and he seems to interact with Jer 31 [38]:31, 33 in 2 Cor 3:2–6, where he presents himself as minister of the new covenant. Finally, Paul will have been aware that Jeremiah is the quintessential prophetic letter writer who triggered a tradition of letters in the names of “Jeremiah” and “Baruch.” Even if Paul was not, and could not be, aware of all of the letters attributed to Jeremiah that we know of, he may have witnessed the early stages of the development of this epistolary tradition. At the very least, Jeremiah and Paul are comparable as letter writers in that they write with divine authority to communities, address­ ing problems of such communities, and conveying to them divine promises as well as paraenesis. There are a few further parallels between Jeremiah and Paul, but it is unclear what significance, if any, can be attributed to them. Since they are sometimes discussed in this respect, we shall briefly refer to them. Thus, like Jeremiah (Jer 1:1), Paul hails from Benjamin (Rom 11:1; Phil 3:5),80 although, unlike Jeremiah, he is from the tribe of Benjamin and not a priest81 from the land of Benjamin. Like Jeremiah (16:2–4), Paul is apparently unmarried (1 Cor 7:7–8),82 although the emphasis in Paul’s case is, more specifically, on sexual abstinence. And like Jeremiah (for example, Jer 11:21; 12:6; 15:18), Paul is exposed to suffering (for example, 1 Cor 4:11; 2 Cor 1:5–10),83 although the reasons and circumstances are quite different. In my view, there is not enough information in Paul’s letters available to elevate these “parallels” beyond coincidence. Moreover, Richard Hays argues that Rom 9:20–21 provides an echo to Jer 18:3–6:84

80  As pointed out by Lionel Windsor, Paul and the Vocation of Israel: How Paul’s Jewish Identity Informs his Apostolic Ministry, with Special Reference to Romans (BZNW 205; Berlin: de Gruyter, 2014), 237–38. 81  Windsor, Paul, 114–19 refers to Paul’s application of cultic language to his role in Rom 15:16 (on which see also Martin Vahrenhorst, Kultische Sprache in den Paulusbriefen [WUNT 230; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2008], 314–20), although this should be distinguished from Jeremiah’s priestly pedigree. 82  As pointed out by Hengel and Schwemer, Paul, 95. 83  As pointed out by Lalleman, “Paul’s Self-Understanding,” 110–11. And see above, n. 3. 84  Hays, Echoes, 65–66.

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Jer 18:3–6 (3) καὶ κατέβην εἰς τὸν οἶκον τοῦ κεραμέως, καὶ ἰδοὺ αὐτὸς ἐποίει ἔργον ἐπὶ τῶν λίθων· (4) καὶ διέπεσεν τὸ ἀγγεῖον, ὃ αὐτὸς ἐποίει, ἐν ταῖς χερσὶν αὐτοῦ, καὶ πάλιν αὐτὸς ἐποίησεν αὐτὸ ἀγγεῖον ἕτερον, καθὼς ἤρεσεν ἐνώπιον αὐτοῦ τοῦ ποιῆσαι. (5) καὶ ἐγένετο λόγος κυρίου πρός με λέγων (6) Εἰ καθὼς ὁ κεραμεὺς οὗτος οὐ δυνήσομαι τοῦ ποιῆσαι ὑμᾶς, οἶκος Ισραηλ; ἰδοὺ ὡς ὁ πηλὸς τοῦ κεραμέως ὑμεῖς ἐστε ἐν ταῖς χερσίν μου.

Rom 9:20–21 (20) ὦ ἄνθρωπε, μενοῦνγε σὺ τίς εἶ ὁ ἀνταποκρινόμενος τῷ θεῷ; μὴ ἐρεῖ τὸ πλάσμα τῷ πλάσαντι· τί με ἐποίησας οὕτως; (21) ἢ οὐκ ἔχει ἐξουσίαν ὁ κεραμεὺς τοῦ πηλοῦ ἐκ τοῦ αὐτοῦ φυράματος ποιῆσαι ὃ μὲν εἰς τιμὴν σκεῦος ὃ δὲ εἰς ἀτιμίαν;

Jer 18:3–6 (3) So I went down to the potter’s house, and there he was working at his wheel. (4) The vessel he was making of clay fell away in his hand, and he reworked it into another vessel, as seemed good to him to do. (5) Then the word of the Lord came to me: (6) Can I not do with you, O house of Israel, just as this pot­ ter has done? Look, just like the potter’s clay, so are you in my hand.

Rom 9:20–21 (20) But who indeed are you, a human being, to argue with God? Will what is moulded say to the one who moulds it, “Why have you made me like this?” (21) Has the potter no right over the clay, to make out of the same lump one object for special use and another for ordinary use?

If this is an echo, then it will have to be considered, again, to be a conflation of (at least) Isaianic and Jeremianic motifs, since Rom 9:20 contains verbal allusions to Isa 29:16b; 45:9b (LXX).85 Jeremiah 18:6 seems to provide a slightly closer fit with Rom 9:21 in the rhetorical question about the potter’s power over the clay. As an individual text, this example may not be compelling,86 but seen in connection with other Jeremianic allusions it can enrich our percep­ tion of Paul’s intertextual web. And while the passage in Rom 9:20­–21 may be taken to relate to Paul’s role, these verses are not explicitly dealing with his self-understanding.

85  See Wilk, Die Bedeutung, 304–7, who speaks of “[z]itatähnliche Anspielungen.” Koch, Die Schrift, 18, 144 refers to a “quotation” of Isa 29:16b. Cf. Hays, Echoes, 206 n. 64: “In addition to Jer. 18:3–6, we can hear echoes here of Job 9:12, 10:8–9; Isa. 29:16, 45:9, 64:8; Sir. 33:10–13.” 86  Consequently, Koch, Die Schrift, 18, adduces Jer 18:6 merely for the sake of comparison.

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In sum, Paul draws on more than one prophet for his self-understanding. Thus, he certainly does not develop an extensive (or exclusive) “Jeremiah typology,” as has been suggested, for example, in various ways, for Josephus, especially by David Daube and Shaye Cohen.87 Nevertheless, his interaction with Jeremiah points to a mode that is more contoured than a corporate refer­ ence to “the prophetic.” Rather, Paul combines specific concepts derivative of specific prophets in fashioning his self-understanding. He draws on (Deutero-) Isaiah, in part perhaps, as Wilk has suggested, as announcing Paul’s ministry. In addition, however, he appears to draw on Jeremiah, notably in reference to his prenatal being “set apart” and his struggle against “false apostles,” and there are similarities between Paul and Jeremiah (as well as his companion Baruch) in that they are authors of authoritative letters to communities. Thus, is Paul well placed in a debate about “Jeremiah’s scriptures”? I suggest the answer is a qual­ ified “Yes”: we see some of Jeremiah’s scriptures in Paul, in important aspects of his letters, but set alongside references to other scriptures, chiefly Isaiah.

87  See Josephus, War 5:391–93; and cf. David Daube, “Typology in Josephus,” JJS 31 (1980) 18–36; Shaye J. D. Cohen, “Josephus, Jeremiah, and Polybius,” History and Theory 21 (1982): 366–81; repr. in idem, The Significance of Yavneh and Other Essays in Jewish Hellenism (TSAJ 136; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2010), 105–20. In Ant. 10:79, Josephus claims that Jeremiah even foretold the capture of Jerusalem in Josephus’s own time.

CHAPTER 44

The Apostle Paul in the Prophetic Matrix of Jeremiah. A Response to Lutz Doering* Kipp Davis Lutz Doering’s presentation takes the basic form of three sections that illuminate the influences of Jeremianic texts and traditions on the self-conception and language of Paul the Apostle. In the first part of Doering’s essay, he tackles the growing trend within New Testament scholarship to minimize the particular focus of any single, individual prophet as a model to describe Paul’s own self-conception and his ministry. Doering compares and contrasts the literary motifs in Isa 49:1, 6; 42:6, and Jeremiah’s commission in Jer 1:5 to Paul’s account of his own conversion and ministry in Gal 1:15–16. Contrary to the more recently dominant view— particularly in German New Testament scholarship—that the language and structure of expressions employed in the Deutero-Isaianic references to the prophetic call of the servant ἐκ κοιλίας μητρός μου (Isa 49:1) provides a more appropriate connection to Paul’s own description of his commission to preach the gospel of Jesus. Doering argues that the emphasis in Paul’s account upon his “consecration” is specifically only echoed in the Jeremianic call narrative, which provides the best fit for reading this motif. Second, Doering draws our attention to various echoes of Jeremianic texts in 2 Cor 10–13, as a part of Paul’s defense of the legitimacy of his own apostleship in contrast to his rivals. In addition, Doering notes connections to the overarching theme of restoration and judgment throughout Jeremiah. Third, Doering seeks to show a new connection between Paul and Jeremiah on the basis of their shared distinction as letter writers. Jeremiah is unique among the writing prophets in terms of his own epistolary activity, and Doering investigates the influence of this motif in the emergence of Christian epistolography. This is a particularly intriguing part of Doering’s paper, and one that I would like to pursue further, especially with regard to the symbolic nature of *  I am grateful to the conference organizers, Prof. Hindy Najman and Prof. Konrad Schmid, for inviting me to participate in this event, and for the opportunity to offer this response to Prof. Doering’s paper. Lutz Doering was the external examiner for my Ph.D. dissertation at the University of Manchester in 2009, so this is a special opportunity that I relish.

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Jeremiah’s letter-writing in relation to conceptions of exile. Further, it is possibly also worth considering the similarities in the reception of Paul’s letters, which—like Jeremiah—engendered its very own healthy corpus of pseudonymous epistolary literature. On the whole, Doering presents a concise and convincing case for at least the influence of various aspects of Jeremiah’s persona on Paul’s selfconception and his own purpose as an apostle to the Gentiles in some unexpected ways that have tended to escape earlier detection. Doering performs a service for scholarship here by addressing the question of “whence Jeremiah?” in the thinking of Paul. He does so, in particular, by drawing our attention to the appearance of several of these motifs as part of sections in Paul’s letters in which he compares and contrasts himself to opponents and rivals who have infiltrated his ministry: in Gal 1 Paul defends his credentials and the quality of his message against the accusations of “false teachers.” In 2 Cor 10–13 Paul again defends his apostleship by contrasting the differences between “true” and “false” agents. At this point, Doering takes a step beyond the first question and begins to address the matter of “why Jeremiah?” in the writing of Paul. In my mind, with regard to the topic of this paper, which concerns the commissioning and self-understanding of Paul, this is an especially salient point, and one that I believe to be enhanced by a comparative study of similar motifs in other literature from Second Temple Judaism. Paul’s recollection and self-comparison to Jeremiah stands in company with descriptions and developments of the sixth-century prophet’s own disputes with his many adversaries. This is also not surprising in light of Kratz’s thoughts about the invention of the prophetic figure Jeremiah from his own essay that appears elsewhere in this volume.1 There are instances from other earlier Jewish texts that echo these motifs: more specifically, the connection of Jeremiah’s commission to recollections about his interaction with and oppression at the hand of kings, priests, and rival prophets. In Sir 49:6–7 these features are recalled in tandem with Jeremiah’s distinction as a prophet “over nations and kingdoms” (‫ל־הגֹּויִ ם וְ ַעל־‬ ַ ‫ַע‬ ‫ ַה ַמּ ְמ ָלכֹות‬, Jer 1:10): “For they caused him harm, (ἐκάκωσαν γὰρ αὐτόν) and he was consecrated in the womb, a prophet!” (καὶ αὐτὸς ἐν μήτρᾳ ἡγιάσθη προφήτης; Sir 49:7).

1  Reinhard Kratz, “Why Jeremiah? The Invention of a Prophetic Figure,” p. 197–212.

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Elements of this motif are also recalled or minimally alluded to in one of the poems from the Qumran Hodayot beginning in col. VII 21 and continuing into col. VIII.2 This poem is a hymn of exaltation, praising God for his predestined favor that falls upon the righteous, and structured in dualistic contrast to the failings of the wicked.3 Col. VII 28–32 contrasts the fate and disposition of the righteous with the wicked in a formulation that echoes Jer 1:5. This hymn shares in Ben Sira’s interpretation of Jeremiah that emphasizes the prophet’s call in correspondence to his adversarial discourse with his rivals. The hymn presents a sharp dichotomy: the “righteous” and the “wicked” are compared on the basis of their purpose, which was established “from the womb.” The Hodayot as a work on the whole shows a strong fascination with God’s supremacy—his total knowledge and his total control over the constitution and affairs of all men.4 This may also form an indirect point of agreement with Paul’s use of Jer 1:5. According to Debbie Hunn, the function of Paul’s self defense in Gal 1:13–2:1 is to substantiate the quality of his gospel message in a similar fashion by forming an ultimate dichotomy between two groups of people: those who seek to please God and those who seek to please people (Gal 1:10):5 (Paul) sets up two categories in 1,10—that of seeking to please people and that of seeking to please God—that are mutually exclusive and all inclusive in the sense that Paul will be doing one or the other. Paul then defends his gospel on the basis of his life motivation. To show that he preaches the gospel he received from God, it suffices for Paul to show that he desires to please God.6 2  Carol Newsom, Hartmut Stegemann and Eileen Schuller, Qumran Cave 1.III: 1QHodayota, with Incorporation of 4QHodayota–f and 1QHodayotb (DJD 40; Oxford: Clarendon, 2008), 99–100. 3  For detailed appraisals and commentaries on this hodayah cf. Carol Newsom, The Self as Symbolic Space: Constructing Identity and Community at Qumran (STDJ 52: Leiden: Brill, 2004), 209–16; Julie A. Hughes, Scriptural Allusions and Exegesis in the Hodayot (STDJ 59; Leiden: Brill, 2006), 63–94. 4  There is possibly also an allusion to the call narrative of Jeremiah in Pseudo-Philo L.A.B. 51:6. When Samuel selects Saul to be the first king of Israel, he responds with words drawn from Jer 1:5–11: “Who am I and what is the house of my father that my lord should say to me this word? For I do not understand what you are saying (Cf. Jer 1:6: ‫) ִהנֵּ ה לֹא־יָ ַד ְע ִתּי ַדּ ֵבּר‬, because I am young (‫) ִכּי־נַ ַער אָנ ִֹכי‬.” This text seems to have drawn from the model of Jeremiah as a prophet of destiny and truth and has reapplied these ideals to the ministry of Samuel as criticism of the early monarchic generation, and to the royal appointment of Israel’s first king. 5  Debbie Hunn, “Pleasing God or Pleasing People? Defending the Gospel in Galatians 1–2,” Bib 91 (2010): 24–49. 6  Ibid., 48.

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“Mutually exclusive” is the operative word here which reflects an ultimatum that Paul depends upon to construct his argument. Part of ensuring his audience that he is on the right side of that ledger takes the form of an allusion to Jeremiah’s own prophetic distinction. Paul describes his own apostleship and mission in contrast to those of his “rivals”: specifically, he is doing the work of God, who is the one who “set him apart” (ὁ ἀφορίσας με), who “called him” (καλέσας, 1:15), who “revealed his son” to him (ἀποκαλύψαι τὸν υἱὸν αὐτοῦ ἐν ἐμοί, v. 16), and whose purpose was for Paul to “proclaim the gospel among the nations” (εὐαγγελίζωμαι αὐτὸν ἐν τοῖς ἔθνεσιν).7 He “neither conferred with flesh and blood” (οὐ προσανεθέμην σαρκὶ καὶ αἵματι, v. 16), nor did he make the journey to Jerusalem in order to consult with “the apostles before me” (τοὺς πρὸ ἐμοῦ ἀποστόλους, v. 17). Rather, Paul prefers to qualify his message positively as one received in isolation (vv. 1, 12), and geographically within Arabia and Damascus (ἀλλὰ ἀπῆλθον εἰς Ἀραβίαν καὶ πάλιν ὑπέστρεψα εἰς Δαμασκόν, v. 17).8 In short, Paul is developing a polemic, and it seems that Jeremiah was thought to be a natural choice for typifying his virtuous position in this fight. In this regard, Paul situates himself within what seems to be a well-established stream within Second Temple Judaism by which Jeremiah’s special status also coincides with an ongoing concern for distinguishing righteousness from wickedness and truth from falsity. Doering’s paper draws out helpful examples of how this plays out in several of Paul’s writings, but the point then benefits from a further comparison to similar treatments of a dominant Jeremianic motif within other texts and traditions from early Judaism.

7  Cf. J. Louis Martin, Galatians: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 33A; New York: Doubleday, 1997), 156: “Both the singling out and the calling speak of God’s election, and both speak to the question of God’s identity. By electing Paul to carry the gospel of his Son to the Gentiles, and by enacting that election in contrast to Paul’s nomistic zeal, God has newly identified himself to Paul as the Father of Jesus Christ.” 8  Especially Paul’s mention of Damascus may be intended for more than just the supplying of historical information. Damascus appears in the so-called Damascus Document as a nom de guerre used to symbolize the self-imposed exile of the Essenes, and possibly also to distinguish their religious movement from the established priesthood in Jerusalem (CD A 6:5, 19; 7:15, 19; 8:21; CD B 19:34; 20:12). Cf. Jerome Murphy-O’Connor, “Damascus,” in Encyclopedia of the Dead Sea Scrolls (ed. Lawrence H. Schiffman and James C. VanderKam; 2 vols.; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000), 1:165–66. Also Martin G. Abegg, “Exile and the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in Exile: Old Testament, Jewish, and Christian Conceptions (ed. James M. Scott; JSJSup 56; Leiden: Brill, 1997), 111–26.

chapter 45

Like a Priest Exposing His Own Wayward Mother: Jeremiah in Rabbinic Literature Ishay Rosen-Zvi This is an initial attempt to provide a context for rabbinic homilies on Jeremiah in toto; an admittedly hopeless effort in a paper. And thus in what follows I am going to give a selective and partial picture and supply some generalizations, bordering on the criminal, of a rich, complex and conflicted literature, without making the proper distinctions between different times and places. I will, however, focus mainly on classical rabbinic literature, Tannaitic and Amoraic midrashic compilations and both Talmudim, with one foray into later midrash (Pesiqta Rabbati) at the end of the paper. But first, let me offer a few (way too general and sweeping, once again) introductions on the manners in which the rabbis treat scripture. In stark contrast to our most basic modern instincts, the rabbis do not read scripture first and foremost as a series of books, but rather as a set of verses which are to be read in the immediate context of scripture in its entirety. De-contextualization and re-contextualization are among the most basic characteristics of midrash.1 An example for this is the rabbinic use of Jeremiah’s description of a true prophecy, as opposed to a false one, as bursting from within him like an unstoppable fire: “Behold, My word is like fire—declares the Lord—and like a hammer that shatters rock” (Jer 23:29).2 Jeremiah, it should be noted, is quite focused on (shall we say obsessed with?) this theme, repeating “declares the Lord” 171 times in his eponymous book, much more than all the other prophets together. Although this verse indeed appears in the talmudic discussion of identifying a false prophet (t. Sanh. 14:14; b. Sanh. 89a), where we would expect it to be, it is much more commonly employed in rabbinic literature to describe the power (and polysemy) of the Torah, with little connection to Jeremiah’s specific polemical context: “and like a hammer that shatters rock—just as this hammer is divided into many sparks, so one verse goes out [=is read] in many ways 1  Daniel Boyarin, Intertextuality and the Reading of Midrash (Bloomington: University of Indiana Press, 1990), 22–33. 2  Biblical translations are generally quoted from the NRSV and modified to fit midrashic usage. Unless noted, translations of ancient texts are my own.

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[lit. flavors]” (Mek. R. Ishmael Shirta 8, Sifre Num 42, b. Sanh. 34a, and more);3 “If this rascal meets you, drag it to the study house. If it is made of rock, it will melt, and if it is made of steel it will burst, as it says “my word is like fire— declares the Lord—and like a hammer that shatters rock (b. Qidd. 30b; note that this homily too is from the school of R. Ishmael); “R. Judah b. Bathyrah says: the words of the Torah are not susceptible to impurity, as it says behold, My word is like fire, declares the Lord” (b. Ber. 22a), etc. In a different, yet no less decontextualized manner, the harsh words God speaks to the prophet: “do not pray for this people, do not raise a cry of prayer on their behalf, do not approach Me (‫( ”)תפגע בי‬7:16) are used by the rabbis to prove that the root p-g-ʿ denotes prayer (b. Ber. 26b). And the words “O Hope of Israel! O Lord” (Jer 17:13) are employed by R. Akiva, at the end of m. Yoma, to prove that God purifies Israel (punning on the dual meaning of the word mqwh—both hope and an immersion pool), while totally ignoring their highly anxious context (“All who forsake you shall be put to shame . . .”).4 And yet, Jeremiah is not just a collection of verses for the rabbis; there is also a character at play. The name “Jeremiah” refers, in Tannaitic and Amoraic midrashim, both to the man and to the book.5 Thus, for example, most of the opening homilies (petihtot) at the beginning of Lamentations Rabbah end with the formula: “once they were exiled, Jeremiah began to lament over them, Eikha.” This recurring formula is sometimes even expanded with a narrative flourish: “the Holy One said to Jeremiah: today, I am like a man who had an only son, and he built a nuptial house for him and he died in it. Have you no pain for me or for my son?” (Petihta 24). This sharp critique pictures Jeremiah as being especially callous regarding the destruction. But the rabbis could not fail to notice that biblical Jeremiah is conflicted and torn, and that alongside harsh, uncompromising judgments there is also deep empathy and compassion. And so while the homilist avoids depicting Jeremiah as crying (“go call Abraham, Isaak and Jacob and Moses from their graves, for they know 3  Azzan Yadin, “The Hammer on the Rock: Polysemy and the School of Rabbi Ishmael,” JSQ 10 (2003): 1–17; Steven D. Fraade, “Rabbinic Polysemy and Pluralism Revisited,” AJS Review 31 (2007): 1–40. 4   Even if the rabbis had contextual sensitivity (see Christine Hayes, “Displaced SelfPerceptions: The Deployment of Minim and Romans in B. Sanhedrin 90b–91a,” in Religious and Ethnic Communities in Roman Palestine, [ed. Hayim Lapin; Potomac, Md.: University Press of Maryland, 1999], 249–89), midrashic praxis is definitely not confined to it. 5  See e.g. the term “and thus Jeremiah says” in Mek. R. Ishmael beshalah 2; Haim Shaul Horovitz and Israel A. Rabin eds., Mechilta d’rabbi Ismael cum variis lectionibus et adnotationibus (Frankfurt am Mein: Kauffmann, 1931), 98; ibid., 6, Horovitz and Rabin eds., Mechilta, 110.

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how to cry”)6 he is narrated as going to the Cave of Machpelah to rouse the patriarchs in a lamentation. Jeremiah’s biography can sometimes even explain his prophecies. Here is an example of a homily employing the political circumstances of Jeremiah’s times in order to resolve a conflict between (the books of) Jeremiah and Job: Job cursed the day of his birth and the night of his conception—this is the meaning of the verse Let the day perish on which I was born, and the night that said, “A man-child is conceived.” (Job 3:3) . . . Jeremiah cursed the day of his birth and the day of his conception: Cursed be the day on which I was born! The day when my mother bore me, let it not be blessed! (Jer 20:14). Cursed be the day on which I was born—this is the day of birth; the day when my mother bore me—this is the day of conception. But could Hilkia, a righteous man, do this thing (i.e., have intercourse with his wife during the day)? Rather, because Jezebel was killing off prophets, he (Hilkia) came, slept with his wife during the day, and fled (Gen Rab. 64:8). Although the homily is seemly defending Jeremiah’s father,7 it is in fact quite ironic of the circumstances of the prophet’s conception.8 This motif will resurface in several homilies which trace Jeremiah’s family back to Rahab the harlot. For our purpose, however, it is the very biographical reading of the prophecies that is important. Such a reading should be seen in light of a wider phenomenon in ancient exegesis. As Carol Newsom pointed in her work on the Hodayot, reciting scripture can be done both from a narrative-like standpoint— identifying with the ascribed author—or from liturgical one—identifying as

6  Biblical Jeremiah cries quite a lot along the book, but indeed not after the destruction! This is “corrected” by 2 Bar. 9:2. 7  On Hilkiah as a prophet see b. Meg. 15a (based on Jer 1:1), and see Louis Ginzberg, The Legends of the Jews (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society of America, 1968), 6:384 n. 10. On the chronological problem in this narrative see idem, n. 11. His emendation, however, is unwarranted. 8  For a (hyper-) literal reading of Jer 20:14 as indicating an anomalous insemination, cf. the fantastic story of the birth of Ben-Sira, the son of Jeremiah at the opening of the medieval composition Alfa Beta de-Ben Sira. Eli Yasif has convincingly established the thorough dependence of this narrative on rabbinic motifs and especially on Pesiqta Rabbati 26 discussed below. See Eli Yasif, The Tales of Ben Sira In the Middle Ages (Magness: Jerusalem, 1984), 32–36 [Hebrew].

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or taking the place of the prophet or poet.9 Rabbinic literature indeed employs both; discussing Jeremian narratives as well as employing his poetry and prayers in their liturgy (e.g. Jer 10:5–6; 14:7; 32:19; 33:11). One should admit, however, that a biographical attitude is almost inevitable in our case. Jeremiah is the most biographical prophetic book in the Hebrew Bible, and its prophecy is inextricably intertwined with narrative (especially in chapters 19–36). The reader can hear—and thus speak in the voice of— Jeremiah’s confessions and personal petitions to a degree unparalleled in other books of prophecy. If there is any surprise, it is that this material is so rarely referred to in rabbinic literature. When reading Jeremiah, the rabbis focus on prophecy, not chronicle;10 and the prophecies are usually extracted from their narrative framework for midrashic use. In dealing with Jeremiah’s verses, the rabbis employ all their regular techniques: They analyze them philologically (e.g. t. Soṭah 9:5 [= Sifre Num 88]: “this entire pericope is a mixture of words: the man who said this did not say that,” commenting on Jeremiah’s trial in Jer 26).11 They expand the narrative (e.g. the story of the struggle of Jeremiah and Hananiah b. Azzur in b. Sanh. 88a = Lev Rab. 16a). They learn lessons from Jeremiah for their own world (e.g. “and as Zedekiah the King of Judah, who only observed one commandment by pulling Jeremiah out of the mortar, all the more so for the sons of Rabbi . . .,” b. Moʿed Qaṭ. 28b). Homilists also use Jeremiah as a means for interpreting the Pentateuch, as they do with other prophetic books.12 Thus, for example, they read the phrase “and they found no water,” in Exod 16:22 in light of its (only!) other occurrence in Jer 14:3 (Mek. R. Ishmael va-yassa 1).13 Additionally, the legal portions of Jeremiah (identified as Deuteronomistic in 9  Carol A. Newsom, The Self as Symbolic Space: Constructing Identity and Community at Qumran (STDJ 52; Leiden: Brill, 2004), 198–204. A marvelous example of the narrativization of Psalms is the sugia on David’s sin and repentance in b. Sanh. 107a–b, in which a dozen of Psalms are cited or paraphrased as part of the narrative. 10  A not-so-scientific check of Ha-torah ha-ketuva ve-hamessurah shows that chapters 37–44 of Jeremiah take up only 3 out of 37 pages of the index of scripture in rabbinic literature for that book. In this respect Ginzberg’s chapter on Jeremiah in his Legends, framing everything in a biographical context, is misleading. 11  These verses indeed mix together claims against him and in his favor. Compare the case of Micah the Morashtite in vv. 18–19 and the case of Uriah the son of Shemaiah in vv. 20–23. 12  See Boyarin, Intertextuality, 48. 13  Horowitz, Mechilta, 154; The comparison with Jeremiah not only adds the “vessels” to the narrative but makes the lack of water an intentional divine plan, just like the prophesy in Jer 14 “concerning the droughts.” On this homily see Ishay Rosen-Zvi, “Terminology and its

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biblical scholarship), are cited in halakic discussions: the false prophet (Jer 28; t. Sanh. 14:4 and b. Sanh. 89a), carrying on the Sabbath (Jer 17:22; y. Šabb. 1:1, 2b) and the ways in which a field is purchased (Jer 32:44; b. B. Bat 28b and more). Since the prophet is the mouthpiece of the divine, the homilists can ascribe his words and actions directly to God.14 Jeremiah’s weeping—mentioned, inter alia in 8:33; 9:9; and 13:17—is read by the rabbis as God’s. Thus we read: “But if you will not listen, my soul will weep in secret for your pride (13:17)—what is secret (‫ ?)מסתרים‬Rav Samuel bar Inia in the name of Rav: the Holy One has a place called ‘Secret’ ” into which, as the story goes, he enters to cry unobserved (b. Ḥag. 5b; Lam Rab. Petihta 24).15 In Lam Rab. “Woe is me because of my hurt!” (Jer 10:19) is also read as describing God (Petihta 2),16 and in yet another section (Petihta 4), lamenting itself is ascribed to Him.17 After these prefaces, we may turn now to the heart of our matter: the rabbis’ engagement with Jeremiah’s allegations. Of all the Israelite prophets, Jeremiah is the harshest. A self-described “a man of conflict and strife with all the land” (15:10), and the subject of “whispers of the crowd” (20:10), Jeremiah is quite belligerent towards his own people: “raise a siege-mound against Jerusalem!” (6:6); “let me see Your retribution upon them!” (11:20 = 20:12); “Oh, give their children over to famine, mow them down by the sword” (18:21). Not surprisingly, Jeremiah was wanted both in Anatoth (11:21) and in Jerusalem (e.g. 26:8; 38:4) and was almost executed or lynched in both places. How do the rabbis accommodate Jeremiah’s prophecies of doom? How can they stomach his harsh words and actions? Discontents: towards a Hermeneutic Lexicon of Midrashic Terminology,” Jewish Studies 48 (2012): 71–91, esp. 79–80. 14  In Lev Rab. 12:1, Jer 15:16 is read as a description of God who eats Nadab and Abihu. See Ruth Kara-Ivanov Kaniel, “Consumed by Love: the Death of Nadab and Abihu as a Ritual of Erotic-Mystical Union,” Te’uda 26 (2014): 585–653, here 601. 15  See Yehuda Libes, “De Natura Dei,” Masuot: Studies in Kabala and Jewish Philosophy in the Memory of Prof. Efraim Gottlieb (ed. Mikal Oron and Amos Goldreich; Jerusalem: Bialik, 1994), 243–97. 16  On this Petihta see Galit Hasan-Rokem, Web of Life: Folklore and Midrash in Rabbinic Literature (trans. B. Stein; Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2000), 132–33. 17  In other homilies, however, it is Jeremiah who does the crying (Pesiq. Rab. 13:9; Lam Rab. Petihta 34; Pesiq. Rab. 26, discussed below). The identity of the actor in the book of Jeremiah is often indeed elusive. Of whom e.g. it is said “I will take up weeping and wailing for the mountains” (9:9)? This phenomenon allows modern scholars to go in the opposite direction: reading God’s words as a reflection of the prophet’s experiences (Yair Hoffman, Jeremiah: Introduction and Commentary [Tel Aviv: Am Oved and Jerusalem: Magnes, 2001], 23, 25).

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The rabbis were not the firsts to cope with this issue of course.18 But I shall claim that their special historical position, after the destruction of the Temple, and their self-perception as “the defenders of Israel” put them in an especially problematic position vis-a-vis Jeremiah’s prophecies. In what follows I will offer some broad generalizations and tentative observations, through which, hopefully, some forest may be seen rising above the mass of trees. First, the lamentations. The rabbis use Jeremiah’s lamentations to portray a deity who suffers in Israel’s suffering. Meir Ayali meticulously mapped this theme and claimed that its rising popularity from mid second century (R. Akiva and his students) on should be read as a reaction to Christian assertions that God left Israel after the destructions.19 Michael Fishbane astutely read several homilies on Jer 25:30, “the holy one sits and roars” (Mek. R. Ishmael Shirta 10; y. Ber. 9:2 13c; b. Ber. 3a; 59a) showing how the rabbis turned this verse of vengeance into an expression of compassion and sympathy with His people.20 At the same time, Jeremiah’s rebukes are used to fortify rabbinic theology of justice. Theodicy is indeed an apt reaction to Jeremiah, who “emphasized the human side of divine activity to an extent not found in other prophets.”21 Rebuke is employed by the rabbis to enhance observation of the Torah and its study, as in the various homilies on Jer 9:11–12: “Why is the land in ruins . . . The Lord replied: because they forsook the Torah I had set before them” (e.g. Sifre Deut 51;22 y. Ḥag. 1:7, 76c, b. B. Meṣi‘a 85a). Thus we read: “Regarding her23 18  See Alexander Rofé, “Redressing the Calamity in the Transmission of the Bible,” Tarbiz 82 (2014): 221–30 [Hebrew]. 19  Meir Ayali, “Ha-el ha-mitsta’er be-tsa’aram shel Israel,” in Mehkarim be-hagut yehudit (ed. Sarah A. Heller Vilensky and Moshe Idel; Jerusalem: Magnes, 1989), 29–50. Cf. Robert Goldenberg, “Early Rabbinic Explanations of the Destruction of Jerusalem,” JJS 33 (1982): 517–25; Robert Kirschner, “Apocalyptic and Rabbinic Responses to the Destruction of 70,” HTR 78 (1985): 27–46. 20  Michael Fishbane, “The Holy One Sits and Roars: Mythopoesis and the Midrashic Imagination,” Journal of Jewish Thought and Philosophy 1 (1991): 1–21. 21  Jack R. Lundbom, Jeremiah 1–20 (AB 21A; Garden City, N.J.: Doubleday, 1999), 146. 22  Louis Finkelstein (ed.), Sifre ad Deuteronomium. . . cum variis lectionibus et adnotationibus (Berlin: Jüdische Kulturband in Deutschland, 1939), 85. 23  On the story which precedes this homily, on the killing of Doeg the Son of Joseph by his own mother, see Israel Yuval, “Christianity in Talmud and Midrash: Parallelomania or Parallelophobia?” in Transforming Relations: Essays on Jews and Christians Throughout History (ed. Franklin T. Harkins and Michael Alan Signer; South Bend, Ind.; Notre Dame University Press, 2010), 50–57. I am not convinced that “Doeg the son of Joseph” functions here as “as a Type of Jesus” (in the same vain that “Doeg the Edomite” functions in rabbinic literature according to Yuval). Note that in the Bavli (Yom 38b) three MSS (Vatican 6; Enelow 270 and Enelow 271) read here Hagdis rather than Doeg.

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Jeremiah lamented and said: my Master, Should women eat their offspring, the children they have borne? And the Holy Spirit replies, saying: Should priest and prophet be killed in the sanctuary of the Lord?—this is Zechariah the son of Jehoiada the priest” (Sifra behukotai 2,24 and various parallels in hagaddic compilations). Transforming the second half of the verse from a poetic duplication of the lament into a divine answer to it, is not just an exegetically motivated move of making sense of an allegedly redundant parallelism,25 but a sophisticated planting of theodicy into the heart of lamentation.26 The rabbis’ real problem is not with Jeremiah’s rebuke—Sifre Deut 1 can easily place Jeremiah in a long and distinguished line of fire-and-brimstone preachers, from Moses to David, Amos, and Ecclesiastes—but with his denunciation, his casting judgment on Israel and washing his hands of them. Here they employ an interesting technique. Jeremiah famously flips back and forth between two positions. Once, hopefully, he calls out for Jerusalem to “wash your clean heart of wickedness. . . that you may be rescued,” (4:14) and another time, he tells her that “though you wash with natron and use much lye, your guilt is ingrained before me” (2:22).27 The homilists read both kinds as calls for change, even when a simple reading indicates dirges of despair. In a homily perhaps quoted from the lost Mekilta to Deuteronomy, we read that “when 24  Isaac Hirsch Weiss, ed., Sifra devei rav hu sefer Torat Kohanim etc (Vienna: Jacob Schlossberg, 1862), 112a. 25  On “parallelism” in biblical poetry and its deliberate “forgetfulness” in rabbinic literature see James Kugel, The Idea of Biblical Poetry (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1981). 26  On the murder of Zechariah the son of Jehoiada the Priest see 2 Chr 24:22. On the theme of spilling the blood of Zechariah and its murderous retribution see y. Taʿan. 4:6 (69a); b. Giṭ. 57b; Yom 38b; Pesiq. Rab. 15:7; Koh Rab 3; Lam Rab 2:4. This ancient motif—found already in scripture (1 Kgs 19:10; Neh 9:26), and in Second Temple literature, including Lives of the Prophets and the New Testament (Matt 23:35; Luke 11:50–51)—was developed extensively in midrash as an explanation to the destruction of the Temple. See Sheldon H. Blank, “The Death of Zechariah in Rabbinic Literature,” HUCA 12–13 (1937–1938): 327–46; Ginzberg, Legends 396–97, n. 30. On a possible anti-Christian polemic in these texts see Israel J. Yuval, “God Will See the Blood: Sin, Punishment and Atonement in the JewishChristian Discourse,” in Jewish Blood: Reality and Metaphor in History, Religion and Culture (ed. Michael B. Hart; London: Routledge, 2009), 83–98. 27  Compare also the prophecies of doom in past perfect tense in 9:11 with those in the present form in 14:12. See J. G. Amesz, “A God of Vengeance?” Reading the Book of Jeremiah: A Search for Coherence (ed. Martin Kessler; Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 2004), 101–7. See also Hoffman, Jeremiah, 83 (and see ibid., 79 for a the developments occurring in chaps. 2–10 in this context).

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Israel do the will of the Holy One, he says where is your mother’s bill of divorce (Isa 50:1), and when they do not do the will of the Holy One he says I have sent her away and given her her bill of divorce (Jer 3:8).”28 The transformation of the prophecy of destruction into an ahistorical indication of divine payback transforms the blatant verdict into an encouragement to follow God’s will. In rabbinic theology, unlike in Jeremiah’s, the trial is never over and everything, always, is dependent on Israel’s actions (combined with divine mercy).29 Midrashic literature rarely discusses Jeremiah’s plaintive petitions in his personal prayers to God: “O that I had in the desert a traveler’s lodging-place” (9:1); “Why does the way of the guilty prosper?” (12:1); “Why should you be like someone confused, like a mighty warrior who cannot give help?” (14:9); “I am weary with holding it in, and I cannot.” (20:9), and the like.30 The petitions they do mention are the collective rather than personal ones. Thus the Mekilta tells us that unlike Elijah, who demanded only the “honor of the father” (i.e., God) and Jonah who only demanded the “honor of the son” (i.e., Israel),31 “Jeremiah insisted upon both the honor of the Father and of the son. For thus it is said: 28  Quoted in Midrash Hagadol ad Deut 32:1. Compare Sifre Deut, 306, Finkelstein, ed., Sifre Deuteronomium, 330, in which the verse from Isaiah serves to correct the one from Jeremiah. The Sifre’s context is eschatological, and therefore Jeremiah’s pessimism must be rejected, while here the verses are read as a-historical lessons and thus both can be sustained. 29  On this combination see Ishay Rosen-Zvi, The Mishnaic Sotah Ritual: Temple, Gender and Midrash (Leiden: Brill, 2012), 114–16 and the references there. 30  An exception to this rule is a homily on the formula “great, mighty and awesome God,” quoted from Deut 10:17 and employed at the beginning of the Amidah: “Jeremiah said: great and mighty God (32:18), but did not say ‘awesome.’ Why did he say ‘mighty’? For this one is worthy of being called mighty, as he sees the destruction of his home and remains silent. And why did he not say ‘awesome’? For ‘awesome’ means naught but the temple, as it says you are awesome O God, in your holy places (Ps 68:36)” (y. Ber. 7:3, 11c). “Jeremiah came and did not say ‘awesome’; he said: gentiles prance in his temple and bow to the statue, where is his awesomeness?” (b. Yom. 69b). The men of the great assembly, however, restored “the crown to its former glory.” See Adiel Schremer, “ ‘The Lord Has Forsaken the Land’: Radical Explanations of the Military and Political Defeat of the Jews in Tannaitic literature,” JJS 59 (2008): 183–200. 31  According to Mek. R. Ishmael, Jonah refused his mission to Nineveh because “the gentiles are easy to repent; lest [their repentance] will incriminate Israel.” See Ephraim E. Urbach, “Redemption and Repentance in Talmudic Judaism,” in Types of Redemption: Contributions to the Theme of the Study Conference Held at Jerusalem 1968 (ed. Raphael J. Z. Werblowsky and Claas Jouco Bleeker; Leiden: Brill, 1970), 190–206; repr. in idem, Collected Writings in Jewish Studies (ed. Robert Brody and Moshe D. Herr; Jerusalem: Magnes, 1999)

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We have transgressed and have rebelled; Thou hast not pardoned (Lam. 3:42)” (Mek. R. Ishmael Pisha 1).32 The optimistic prophecies of consolation (chaps. 30–33, “the book of return”) are much more popular.33 Thus R. Isaac reads Jer 30:10 not just as words of comfort, but a declaration of the unbroken chain: “the verse likens him [= Jacob] to his progeny: as his progeny [= Israel] is alive, so is he” (b. Ta‘an. 5b).34 Even harsh prophecies, such as Micah’s “Zion shall be ploughed as a field” (Mic 3:12), which is quoted in Jeremiah’s trial (Jer 26:18), are employed as proof that salvation will eventually come (Sifre Deut 43; b. Mak. 24b and parallels).35 That Jeremiah ends with the vision of the destruction of Babylon (chaps. 50–51) is cited as a proof that prophets never end their books with words of rebuke (Sifre Deut 342).36 In the Palestinian Talmud, this appears as a debate: 32  Horowitz and Rabin, eds., Mechilta, 4. 33  Cf. Jer 2:2 in Mek. R. Ishmael Vayehi 3 (= Mek. R. Simon 14:15) and see Boyarin, Intertexuality, 42–44. 34  Cf. the reading of Chaim Milikowsky, “Midrash as Fiction and Midrash as History: What Did the Rabbis Mean?” in Ancient Fiction: The Matrix of Early Christian and Jewish Narrative (Jo-Anne Brant, Charles W. Hedrick, and Chris Shea; Atlantla: SBL, 2005), 113–23. 35  Finkelstein, ed., Sifre Deuteronomium, 95. Hoffman, Jeremiah, 75 surmises that this was an accepted reading of Jeremiah shortly after the destruction of Judah in 587 bce, which accounts for its popularity and preservation. 36  Finkelstein, ed., Sifre Deuteronomium, 392. The beginning of the homily contrasts Jeremiah’s use of nuptial metaphors in both optimistic and pessimistic contexts in 7:32 and 31:12. The set phrase “the voice of the bridegroom and the voice of the bride” is indeed found in both contexts (compare 7:34 and 16:9 to 33:11). Louis Finkelstein, New Light from the Prophets (London: Valentine, Mitchell, 1969), made the rather farfetched suggestion that the homilist lived at the beginning of the Babylonian exile and that his Jeremiah ended in chapter 31. The end of the homily, which quotes from chapter 51, is thus a later addition. He also claimed that the assertion in Sifre Deut 1, that Jeremiah wrote two books, means: an early one which ended at 30:4, and a later one which ended at 51:64. Cf. Hayyim Moshe Itzhak Gevaryahu, “Barukh ben nerya, sofero shel irmiyahu,” in Iyyunim be-sefer irmiyahu (ed. Ben Ziyyon Luria; vol. 3; Jerusalem: Ha-hevra le-heker ha-mikra be-yisrael, Ha-histadrut ha-ziyyonit ha-olamit, 1974). But this division is not, in fact, reflected in the homily. The “two books” referenced by the Sifre are the books described in chapter 36: the first one, burnt by Jehoiakim, and the second which he subsequently wrote and added to (see also Mek. R. Ishmael pisha 1, which refers to Jeremiah’s “double prophecy”).  The rabbis did not have any reason to read Jeremiah as less than a unified whole. What the Sifre is in fact doing is reading the beginning of Jer 30 closely: 30:2 instructs Jeremiah to “write in a book all the words that I have spoken to you,” whereas 30:4 begins “the words that the Lord spoke concerning Israel and Judah.” The Sifre thus notices that there are two sets of “words of the Lord” in the book—corresponding to the two books of chapter 36. Chapter 30 presents the final words of rebuke, after which Jeremiah turns to prophecies of consolation.

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“We have found, in the prophets of yore, that they would end their words with words of praise and words of consolation. R. Eleazar said: except for Jeremiah who ended with words of rebuke. R. Yohanan told him: even he ended with words of consolation and said thus shall Babylon fall (51:64)” (y. Ber. 5:1, 8d; cf. Pesiq. Rab. 13:14). It is not clear whether the debate is about the nature of the vision of the destruction of Babylon itself (a formal rebuke, but one that is in favor of Israel) or about whether or not we should count Jer 52 (the narrative of the destruction = 2 Kgs 25) as part of the prophecies. But it is clear that the rabbis are trying to force Jeremiah into their desired consolation scheme. Rejecting Jeremiah’s pessimistic stance, the rabbis cast themselves as the defenders of Israel. In Mishnah Megillah (4:10) we read that R. Eliezer forbade the reading of the harsh prophesy against Jerusalem in Ezek 16. The Tosefta, in what might well be the original version of this story, tells us that R. Eliezer lashed out at a man who got up to read Ezek 16 at his synagogue. This chapter in Ezekiel begins with a demand that the prophet “proclaim Jerusalem’s abominations to her,” and R. Eliezer caustically suggested to the man: “go out and proclaim the abominations of your own mother!” (t. Meg. 3:34).37 Prophecies of doom are read only on the three “weeks of doom” before the fast of the 9 of Av, two of which are taken from Jeremiah (the third, on “Shabbat Hazon,” is from Isa 1; while all the seven “prophecies of consolation” which follow are taken from the prophecies of Second Isaiah). It is thus not surprising to find in the Bavli’s “book of dreams” that while seeing Isaiah in the dream promises one wisdom, seeing Jeremiah promises nothing but doom (b. Ber. 57b; that this is about seeing the books in the dream rather the figure of the prophets themselves is proven from the third item mentioned there: seeing Kings, a harbinger of piety). A different way to evaluate rabbinic attitude(s) toward the book of Jeremiah would be to ask what kind of themes did the rabbis choose to ignore in their reading of Jeremiah. Argumentum ex silentio of course is always problematic, but when covering such a large canvas may nonetheless be indicative; especially if we can show that other interpretive communities do emphasize the very same themes that the rabbis ignore. I shall examine below the use and disuse of six Jeremian topics: A religion without a temple; the “new covenant”; 37  Rosen-Zvi, The Mishnaic Sotah Ritual, 215–16. Cf. Isaiah’s punishment for saying “I dwell in the midst of a people of unclean lips” (Isa 6:5) in b. Yebam. 49b. This motif is absent from all the other versions of Isaiah’s martyrdom. See Richard Kalmin, Migrating Tales: The Talmud’s Narratives and Their Historical Context (Oakland: University of California Press, 2014), 37.

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universalism; subordination to conquerors; the status of Babylonia; and eschatology. a. Jeremiah could have been a font of inspiration for the rabbis, who needed to restructure a Judaism with no temple at its center. No other prophet places such a premium on spiritual worship at the expense of sacrifices.38 The rabbis, however, eschew this criticism. The harsh verses of Jer 7—Israelite belief that they will be protected by “the temple of the Lord, the temple of the Lord, the temple of the Lord” (7:4), Jeremiah’s insistence that “I did not speak with [your fathers] or command them concerning burnt offerings or sacrifice” (7:22),39 and his assertion that the temple became a “Den of thieves” (7:11)40—are neither quoted nor discussed in rabbinic literature. The rabbis chose to perpetuate the temple textually, in the study house; to adopt a temple-oriented thinking in the absence of a real temple.41 They have no use for criticism of the temple.42 b. The rabbis almost single-mindedly ignore the promise of a “new covenant” (Jer 31:31). Although the idea of a covenant written on the heart and not in a book is echoed in several rabbinic statements and is related to concepts that fit profound rabbinic sentiments of religious internalization,43 they almost never consciously adopt this term (with the exception of Sifra, behukotai 1:3, 111a), a central tenet in the Jeremian soteriology. This should be contrasted with the proud usage of the term in the Damascus Document (VII 21), 38  Moshe Weinfeld, “Irmiyahu, ishiyyuto ve-torato,” in Iyyunim be-sefer irmiyahu: divrei hug ha-iyyun be-veit nessi ha-medinah (ed. Ben Ziyyon Luria; Jerusalem: Ha-hevra le-heker hamikra be-Israel, Ha-histadrut ha-tsiyyonit ha-olamit, 1972–1974), 48–78, here 60. Weinfeld contends that it is Jeremiah’s concept of internalized religiosity (see below) that stands at the basis for his criticism of the temple. Cf. Hoffmann’s note that Jeremiah has no place for the temple in his vision of redemption and that he even fails to discuss the Josianic reforms of the temple (Hoffmann, Jeremiah, 82). See however Yechezkel Kaufman, Toledot ha-emunah ha-israelit: mi-yemei kedem ad sof bayit sheni (Jerusalem: Mossad Bialik, 1969), 3:444. 39  For Maimonides’ explanation of this apparently false verse see The Guide for the Perplexed, 3:32. 40  For this idiom see Mark 11:17 and parallels. 41  Francis Schmidt. How The Temple Thinks: Identity and Social Cohesion in Ancient Judaism (trans. J. Edward Crowley; Biblical Seminar 78; Sheffield: JSOT, 2001). See also my Mishnaic Sotah Ritual, 239–54. 42  For lack of criticism see Jonathan Klawans. Purity, Sacrifice and the Temple: Symbolism and Supersessionism in the Study of Ancient Judaism (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006), 175–211. 43  See Ron Margolin, Ha-dat ha-penimit: fenomenologiya shel hayyei ha-dat ha-penimiyyim ve-hishtakfutam bi-mekorot ha-yahadut (Ramat Gan: Bar Ilan Universtiy Press, 2012).

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which proclaims its adherents to be members of the “new covenant in the land of Damascus.” Could this ignoring be a reaction to the adoption of the “New Testament” in the New Testament (an adoption that turned it from a new manner of experiencing the law, to its replacement)?44 Against the Pauline dichotomy of spirit and flesh, the rabbis insist on the primacy of carnal genealogy.45 When Jeremiah complains “for all the gentiles are uncircumcised, but all the House of Israel are uncircumcised of heart,” (Jer 9:25), the rabbis hear that uncircumcised Jews are nonetheless kosher Jews (m. Ned. 3:11; Cf. m. Yebam. 8:1).46 c. Similarly, the rabbis mostly turned a blind eye to Jeremiah’s demand that all nations recognize the God of Israel (3:17, 10:11, 12:16, 16:19, 18:7–10).47 This “eschatological universalism”48 was marked by Moshe Weinfeld as the origin of Jewish (and later Christian) missionizing.49 Especially important in this context is the Aramaic prophecy in Jer 10:11, which the exiled Israelites are instructed to repeat to their new neighbors. The gentiles themselves must understand that “the Lord God is truth.”50 This is an unprecedented idea seconded only by Second Isaiah. But the rabbis were not interested in this message and thus disregarded most of Jer 10, to the exclusion of the first verse of the prophecy, which they read thus: “when Israel are engaged in Torah they need not concern themselves with all these [cosmological signs], as it says Thus said the Lord do not learn to go the way of the nations etc. (Jer 10:2)” (t. Suk. 2:10). The universalist

44  For the term “New Covenant” in the NT see Tiberius Rata, The Covenant Motif in Jeremiah’s Book of Comfort: Textual and Intertextual Studies of Jeremiah 30–33 (New York: Lang 2007), 89–122. 45  D. Boyarin, Carnal Israel: Reading Sex in Talmudic Culture (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1995); idem, A Radical Jew: Paul and the Politics of Identity (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1997). 46  See Yedidah Koren, “Ha-orla ve-he’arel ba-sifrut ha-yehudit ha-atikah” (MA Thesis, Tel Aviv University, 2014), 66–71. Koren compares this mishnah unit to Romans 2:25–29 and shows how Paul uses Jeremiah’s “boasting” motif (Jer 9:22–23) in his critique of the circumcision of the flesh. 47  The prophecies to the nations at the end of the book are not connected to this motif, for they do not call for repentance. 48  Kaufman, Toledot ha-emunah ha-israelit, 443, 462, 472. 49  Weinfeld, Irmiyahu. 50  These verses served as the basis of the “Letter of Jeremiah” found in the Septuagint. There, however, the prophecy is meant for Israel only, and it does not contain the Aramaic verse. The same holds true for the expansion in Targum Yonatan.

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ending is disregarded, and the gentiles are left out of the discussion: the barrier is already completed.51 d. Another Jeremian innovation is that the exiles should subordinate themselves to the conquerors, for Nebuchadnezzar is the servant and messenger of God (27:5–8).52 Josephus, for one, keenly adopted this stance. In a speech modeled after Jeremiah 7 (B.J. 5:362–419), he presented himself as Jeremiah redivivus, calling for submission to Rome as the divine elect.53 As Steven Weismann has shown, this usage of Jeremiah was executed by other Jews in Judea before and after Josephus.54 But not by the rabbis in Roman Palestine. Though practical enough in their dealings with the government, they never developed a theology of submission (in the manner advocated by R. Jose b. Qisma in b. ‘Abod. Zar. 18a: “this nation was crowned by heaven”),55 advocating realpolitik instead.56 e. Another unrealized potential use of Jeremiah is legitimizing Babylon and undergirding in Scripture the status of living there. The command “they shall be brought to Babylon and there they shall remain” (27:22, 29:4–7) is referred 51  See Ishay Rosen-Zvi “The Birth of the Goy in Rabbinic Literature,” Te’udah 26 (2014): 361– 438. Cf. Sifre Deut 175 (ed. Finkelstein, 221) in which “I have appointed thee a prophet unto the nations” (goyim, which in rabbinic Hebrew means “gentiles”) is read as referring to Israelites who “act as goyim.” The rabbis could not accept a literal reading of the verse as referring to gentiles; a fact which probably has to do also with the appropriation of this verse for Christian mission. For the image of Paul as a “prophet to the gentiles,” a second Jeremiah, see Karl Olav Sandnes, Paul: One of the Prophets? A Contribution to the Apostle’s Self-Understanding (WUNT II/43; Tübingen: Mohr, 1991), 61. Justin Martyr (Dialogus cum Tryphone 72:2–4) is a clear testimony for the existence of a Jewish-Christian polemic around Jeremiah in the second century. 52  Kaufman, Toledot ha-emunah ha-israelit, 457; John Hill, Friend or Foe: The Figure of Babylon in the Book of Jeremiah MT (BibInt 40; Leiden: Brill 1999); John B. Job, Jeremiah’s Kings: A Study of Monarchy in Jeremiah (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2006), 139–161. 53  Cf. Agrippa’s speech in Josephus, B.J. 2:390. See Tucker S. Ferda, “Jeremiah 7 and Flavius Josephus on the First Jewish War”, JSJ 44 (2013): 158–73; See Shaye J. D. Cohen, “Josephus, Jeremiah, and Polybius,” History and Theory 21 (1983): 366–81 and the bibliography there on n. 2. For a similar image see Matt 16:14. For a skeptical approach as to the importance of Jeremiah (or any other biblical model) for Josephus’ self-image in B.J. see Michael Tuval, From Jerusalem Priest to Roman Jew: On Josephus and the Paradigms of Ancient Judaism (WUNT II/357; Tubingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2013), 124. 54  Steven Weitzman, Surviving Sacrilege: Cultural Persistence in Jewish Antiquity (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2005). 55  On this narrative see Boyarin, Dying For God, 42–66. 56  See my “Rabbis as Romans Revisited,” in Jewish Cultural Encounters in the Ancient Mediterranean and Near Eastern World (ed. Mladen Popovic; Leiden: Brill, forthcoming).

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to as a “positive commandment” in b. Ketub. 110b–111a (and parallels), but no use is made of other (potentially more powerful) verses, such as the parable of the figs in Jer 24, in which the exiled are narrated as the “good figs,” whereas the bad figs are left to rot in Judah.57 It seems that the dialectic relationship of the Babylonian Jews to Palestine did not allow them to exploit the full potential of Jeremiah’s prophecies in this area.58 f. Finally, Jeremiah’s belligerent eschatology is not employed in rabbinic literature either. Chapter 25, the prophecy of the cup (which in the Septuagint also contains the prophecies on the nations; chaps. 50–51 in the MT), finds no resonance in classic rabbinic midrashim (up until Pesiqta Rabbati discussed below), except for 25:30, in which God “roars over his habitat.” But this roar, which in Jeremiah is an uttering of “shouts like the grape-treaders, against all dwellers on earth,” a sign of God’s uncompromising vengeance (“contends with all flesh, He delivers the wicked to the sword”), is read by the rabbis as a sign of impotence and despair.59 Generally speaking, the rabbis rarely use Jeremiah to decode their own time, though this may seem like the most obvious use of the book. Jeremiah gives meaning to exile and exhorts his audience to accept the divine judgment, which came in the form of destruction and subjugation. All that is needed in order to make this relevant is to replace Babylon for Rome. The Mishnah itself, we should recall, combines the two destructions together (m. Ta‘an. 4:6), and homilies on Lamentations read it as describing both events. But Jeremiah, to whom Lamentations is attributed (b. Bab. Bat. 15a), is not read in a similar way. 57  For a comparison with Ezek 33:24 see Mark Leuchter, The Polemics of Exile in Jeremiah 26–45 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008); Dalit Rom-Shiloni, “From Ezekiel to Ezra-Nehemiah: Shifts of Group Identities within Babylonian Exilic Ideology”, in Judah and the Judeans in the Achaemenid Period (ed. Oded Lipschits, Gary N. Knoppers, and Manfred Oeming; Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 2011), 127–51. 58  See Jefferey Rubenstein, “Hitmodedut im ma’alot erets Israel: nituah sugiyyat bavli, ketubot 110a–112b,” in Merkaz u-tefutsa (ed. Isaiah Gafni; Jerusalem: Merkaz Zalman Shazar, 2004), 159–88. 59  See Fishbane, “The Holy One.” For the supplanting of a lion with a dove in b. Ber. 3a see Moshe Benowitz, BT Berachot chapter 1, Talmud Ha-Igud (Jerusalem: Ha-iggud le-farshanut ha-talmud, 2006), 94–95. Jeremiah 10:25 is cited as a prooftext for future divine vengeance already in Mek. R. Ishmael, Shirata 6 (on which see Ishay Rosen-Zvi, “Can the Homilists Cross the Sea Again? Time and Revelation in Mekhilta Shirta,” in The Significance of Sinai: Traditions about Divine Revelations in Judaism and Christianity [ed. George J. Brooke, Hindy Najman, and Loren T. Stuckenbruck; Themes in Biblical Narratives 12; Leiden: Brill, 2008], 217–45), but it was adopted as part of the Passover liturgy only in the Middle Ages.

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Why? Rabbinic reservations of Jeremiah’s theology of doom, together with his uncompromising admonitions and gloomy rhetoric, may supply part of the answer. This may also explain why the suffering and persecuted Jeremiah, a natural hero for preachers, then and now,60 did not become a paragon of the rabbinic movement. His soliloquies of suffering and rejection are rarely quoted, and instead he becomes the target of pointed criticism, unprecedented in prerabbinic literatures.61 I would like to illustrate this last point by reading two lengthy midrashic pericopae about Jeremiah, destined for the first “Sabbath of Doom” before 9 of Ab, when Jer 1 is read in the synagogues:62 1

Pesiqta de-Rab Kahana 13: The Words of Jeremiah

At the beginning of this passage, verses from Isaiah, Proverbs, and Zechariah are contrasted to those of Jeremiah. While the formers call for repentance, the latter indicates the loss of any hope: Turn you at my reproof; behold, I will pour out my spirit unto you, else I will make known my [direful] words unto you (Prov. 1:23): If you turn at my reproof, cries wisdom, I will pour out my spirit through Ezekiel— The word of the Lord came expressly unto Ezekiel the priest, the son of Buzi (Ezek. 1:3). If you do not turn, I will make known my direful words unto you (Prov. 1:23) through Jeremiah. Thus scripture deemed it necessary to set down The [direful] words of Jeremiah the son of Hilkiah (Jer. 1:1).63

60  Jeremiah is “readily accessible to a preacher’s interpretations because they report a series of events in which Jeremiah was deeply involved as a courageous and even heroic figure who spoke out against a group of complacent and faint-hearted political leaders” (Ronald E. Clements, “Jeremiah’s message of Hope,” in Rereading the Book of Jeremiah: A Search for Coherence, [ed. Martin Kessler, Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 2004], 135– 47, esp. 135). Cf. the adoption of Jeremiah’s persecuted figure by Paul and Josephus above. 61  Contrast the Ascension of Isaiah 3, in which similar accusations, that the prophet is slandering Jerusalem, are ascribed to Belchira, the evil Samaritan. 62  This liturgical phenomenon is first witnessed in the Pesiqta de-Rab Kahana, see Lewis M. Barth, “The ‘Three of Rebuke and Seven of Consolation’: Sermons in the Pesiqta de Rav Kahana” JJS 33 (1982): 503–15. 63  William G. Braude and Israel J. Kapstein, trans., Pesikta de-Rab Kahana: R. Kahana’s Compilation of Discourses for Sabbaths and Festival Days (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1975), 339.

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Note that Jeremiah is not part of the prophetic reproofs here, but rather a harbinger of destruction after all hope has been lost. In the next homily Jeremiah is presented as a scion of Rahab the harlot. This is an early tradition which probably started as a praise for Rahab, who became a proselyte.64 In the Pesiqta, however, it is used to characterize Jeremiah himself. First it seems as a point in his favor: “Let the descendant of a shameless woman who made her deeds comely, present himself and reprimand the son of a comely woman who made her deeds shameless” (13:4). But the potential for loud criticism is laid bare in the next petihta: R. Samuel bar Nahman began his discourse with the verse But if ye will not drive out the inhabitants of the Land before you, then shall those that remain of them be as thorns in your eyes, and as pricks in your sides (Num. 33:55). The Holy One reminded Israel: I said to you, Thou shalt utterly destroy them: the Hittite and the Amorite (Deut. 20:17). You did not do so; But rather and Rahab the harlot, and her father’s household, and all that she had, did Joshua save alive (Josh. 6:25). Behold, Jeremiah will spring from the children’s children of Rahab the harlot and will thrust such words into you as thorns in your eyes and pricks in your sides. Hence Scripture deems it necessary for the book to begin with The words of Jeremiah (Jer. 1:1) (13:5).65 Numbers 33 warns the Israelites that leaving any of the original inhabitants of the land alive will make them “thorns in your eyes and pricks in your sides,” and that they will “harass” them in the land. This horrible verse, demanding that the Israelites destroy all the peoples of Canaan, is read here as directed toward Jeremiah himself. As the herald of exile, he is the harasser. Oddly enough, in the following homily Jeremiah is compared with Moses, as if we did not just hear that he is an uncalled-for stranger: “you find that much of what is written of the one, Moses, is written of the other, Jeremiah” (13:6).66 64  See the list of eight priestly prophets descended from Rahab in Sifre Num 78. On Jeremiah’s origins see Ginzberg, Legends, 384 n. 10. On Rahab in the midrash see Admiel Kosman, “Ha-isha she-hafkha le-gever: demutah shel rahav ba-midrash” in Barukh she-asani isha? Ha-isha ba-yahadut, me-hatanakh ve-ad yameinu (eds. David Yoel-Ariel, Maya Leibowitz and Yoram Mazor; Tel Aviv: Yediot Aharonot, 1999), 91–102; idem, “Rahab: Prostituierte und Prophetin,” in Jewish Lifeworlds and Jewish Thought; Festschrift Presented to Karl E. Grözinger on the Occasion of His 70th Birthday (ed. Nathanael Riemer; Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2012), 177–83. 65  Kapstein and Braude trans., Pesikta, 341–42. 66  Ibid., 342.

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But while both Moses and Jeremiah are portrayed as rebuking the people and being the subjects of persecution (by Pharaoh in the case of Moses, and by Israel in the case of Jeremiah),67 they are also contrasted: Jeremiah said: among the priests my name is deprived of the respect due it. In the days of Moses [priests were told to say:] The Lord bless thee (Num. 6:24); but in my days: Of them shall be taken up a curse (Jer. 29:22). In the days of Moses: and keep thee (Num. idem); but in my days: Such as are for death, to death (Jer. 15:2). In the days of Moses: The Lord make His face to shine upon thee (Num. 6:25); but in my days: He hath made me to dwell in dark places as those do that have been long dead (Lam. 3:6). (13:13).68 Jeremiah’s lineage is also a double-edged sword: “Jeremiah as well—Israel were running him down, saying: Is he not of the descendants of Rahab the harlot? To set the record straight, Scripture finds it necessary to indicate his lofty pedigree: The words of Jeremiah the son of Hilkiah, of the priests (Jer. 1:1).” (13:12).69 Even Jeremiah’s name is taken to mean radically different things, from “for in his days the Temple became a desolation (erêmon; desert in Greek)” to “the measure of justice rose (Heb. ‫ )נתרוממה‬to its full height.” (13:12).70 How should we account for this multivalent, contradictory treatment of Jeremiah? It seems to reflect first and foremost the bind the rabbis are in: defending Jeremiah means slandering the people, and vice versa. The rabbis are caught in between, unable to take a clear side, one way or the other. The homilists attempt to make sense of the combination of rebuke and lament is reflected in the words spoken by Nebuzzaradan himself to Jeremiah. The latter is weeping with the exiles, and the former wants to know, in archaic Aramaic crafted for him by the rabbis, how come: “for many many years you have been prophesying concerning this place that it would be destroyed, and now that I have destroyed it, you are distraught?” (13:9, commenting on Jer 40:4: and if it is bad in your eyes to come with me to Babylon, desist. Cf. Lam. Rab. petihta 34). This homily ends with one of the more horrifying stories in rabbinic literature, which does not need much interpretation:

67  On Moses-Jeremiah comparisons see further Ginzberg, Legends, 385–86 n. 13. 68  Kapstein and Braude, trans., Pesikta, 351. 69  Ibid. 70  Ibid., 350.

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On his way back [to Jerusalem], Jeremiah saw fingers and toes [of captive Israel] that had been cut off and flung on the roadways. He picked them up, clasped them close, kissed them, and put them in his cloak, saying to them: O my children, did I not say to you, Give glory to the Lord your God, before it grow dark, and before your feet stumble, etc. (Jer. 13:16)—before words of Torah grow dark, before words of prophecy grow dark (13:9).71 2

Pesiqta Rabbati 26, “When She went Astray”

This unique homily combines various midrashic materials into a fascinating rewriting of Jeremiah’s life. Its exceptional character and style, indicating that it is not an integral part of the Yelamdenu material in the Pesiqta, conveyed to it much attention. Scholars noted its unique rewritten-Bible form, its sophisticated literary ruses, and its frequent use of dialogues.72 Here I will merely focus on its biographical (psychological?) retelling of Jeremiah’s harsh rebuke of Israel.73 The homily begins, atypically, expanding not on a verse but on a hymn (which seems much like a version of the Vision of the Animals in 1 En. 85–90): “And it came to pass/ that the sheep rebelled/ and would not hearken/ to their master’s words/ for they hated their shepherds/ who were good leaders/ and withdrew far from them.”74 From here on, the midrash offers a biography of Jeremiah, which begins with his very birth—he was, after all, known by God “before I created you in the womb” (Jer 1:5).

71  Ibid., 346. 72   See Leo Prijs, Jeremia–Homilie Pesikta Rabbati Kapitel 26: Kritische Edition nebst Übersetzung und Kommentar (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1966); Joseph Heinemann. “A Homily on Jeremiah and the Fall of Jerusalem (Pesiqta Rabbati, Pisqa 26),” in The Biblical Mosaic: Changing Perspectives (ed. Robert Polzin and Eugene Rothman; Philadelphia: Lightning Source, 1982), 27–41; Arnold Goldberg. “Pesiqta Rabbati 26, ein singulärer Text in der frühe rabbinischen Literatur,” Frankfurter Judaistische Beiträge 17 (1989): 1–44. See also the next note. 73  I use the edition of William G. Braude, “The Piska concerning the Sheep which Rebelled,” PAAJR 30 (1962): 1–35, which is based on MS Parma 1270, and his translation of Pesiq. Rab., idem, Pesikta Rabbati: Discourses for Feasts, Fasts and Special Sabbaths (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1968). For a transcription of the MS (and all other extant witnesses), see Rivka Ulmer, Pesiqta Rabbati: A Synoptic Edition of Pesiqta Rabbati Based upon All Extant Manuscripts and Editio Princeps (Atlanta: Scholars, 1997). 74  Braude (trans.), Pesikta, 524–25.

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At Jeremiah’s coming forth into the world, he cried a great cry as though he was already a full-grown youth, and exclaimed: “My bowels, my bowels! I am in pain! The chambers of my heart cry for me. Destruction upon destruction! I am the one who will destroy the whole world.” And whence do we know that Jeremiah spoke thus? It is written: my bowels, my bowels! I write in pain! The chambers of my heart! My heart moaneth within me, I shall not be silent (Jer 4:19). He opened his mouth and reprimanded his mother. He said: “Tell me, mother, did you not conceive me in the manner of other women, did you not give birth to me in the way of other birthing women? Have your ways been perhaps like the ways of all wayward women and you cast your eyes upon another? For one who strays from her husband, why does she not drink from the bitter water? Were you brazen?” And whence does Jeremiah say this? Yet thou hadst a harlot’s forehead (3:3). When his mother heard these words she said: “what makes this one speak thus, not in his time?” He opened his mouth and said: “I speak not of you, mother, I prophecy not of you, mother. I am speaking to Zion and Jerusalem, who adorns her daughters and clothes them with scarlet and crowns them with gold. The enemies are coming and will despoil them.”. As it says: and you, who will be despoiled, why do you clothe yourself with scarlet, deck yourself with ornaments of gold etc (4:30) [. . .] Take this cup of wrath and make the nations drink. Jeremiah took the cup and said: “who shall I water first? Which city shall drink?” He said: “Water Jerusalem, the cities of Judah, first, for they are foremost of all kingdoms.” When Jeremiah heard this command, he opened his mouth and cursed the day of his birth, as it is said: cursed be the day wherein I was born (20:14) [. . .] Jeremiah said: “I will tell you whom I am like: a high priest whose lot was to give water of bitterness. They brought the woman to him, he bared her head, disarrayed her hair, proclaimed her, and slapped her. He took the cup for her to drink and saw that she was his mother. He began crying out, saying: woe unto me, mother, I attempted to honor you and now I am debasing you.” So Jeremiah said: “woe unto me mother Zion. I thought I would prophesy good things and consolations, but I prophesy for you infliction of punishment.”75 Several motifs are recognizable here from earlier sources: Jeremiah’s lament on Jerusalem as his mother, based on Jer 20:14–18, appears already in 2 Bar. 3:1–2. The motif of the high priest as offering the waters of bitterness to a wayward 75  Braude, Pesikta, 525–28.

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wife is also found in older sources.76 But the idea of a priest who offers these waters to his own mother is not found anywhere else and is an adaptation of the sotah ritual made specifically for the purposes of our local lesson: a prophet who foretells the doom of his own people. The priest who makes his mother drink risks finding out that he himself is an illegitimate child, a bastard (and not much of a priest either). This idea is found already in the story in Tosefta Megillah, where R. Eliezer tells the lector to “go and proclaim the abominations of his own mother.” But here the proclaimer is the prophet himself! Jeremiah is revealed at his most tragic state: his prophecies against Jerusalem reveal his own secrets. Behind this tragic motif we can feel the grave trouble of the homilists with regard to Jeremiah and his dooming role. But the homily is also a profound reflection on destruction itself. Presented as part of the legendary biography of Jeremiah, it is used to problematize the biblical metaphor of Israel as God’s wife.77 This becomes apparent at the end of the pericope, when Jeremiah meets, once again, a woman whose hair is awry: Jeremiah said: I was going back up to Jerusalem, I lifted my eyes, and saw a woman sitting at the top of a mountain, clothed in black, her hair disheveled, crying: “who will comfort me?” And I cried, “who will comfort me?” I came near her and spoke to her. I said: “If you are a woman, speak to me, and if you are a spirit, be gone from me.” She answered, saying: “do you not recognize me? I am the one who had seven sons” [. . .] I replied, saying: “you are no better than your mother Zion, who has been made into a pasture for the beasts of the field.” She replied, saying: “I am your mother Zion, the mother of seven,” as it says: she who bore seven languishes (15:9).”78 Readers of this narrative have pointed out the similarities between this episode and the description of the woman who turns into a city in the fourth vision of 4 Ezra.79 But the differences are no less striking: in 4 Ezra, the crying woman instantly becomes a wonderful city, the rebuilt Jerusalem. Destruction 76  See t. Sot. 1:7 and Lieberman’s comments ad loc (Pace Ginzberg, Legends, 385 n. 13). 77  Julia Galambush, Jerusalem in the Book of Ezekiel (Atlanta: Scholars, 1992). 78  Braude, Pesikta, 537–38, modified. 79  See Israel Levi, “La Pesikta Rabbati Et Le 4 Ezra,” REJ 24 (1892): 281–85; Ephraim E. Urbach, “Yerushalayim shel ma’ala virushalayim shel matah,” in Me’olamam shel hakhamim (ed. idem; Jerusalem: Magnes 1988), 383–84 n. 30 as well as Braude and Fritz, cited above. For a discussion of the return of motifs from Second Temple literature in later midrash see the paper delivered by Isral Ta-Shema at a memorial lecture for prof. I. Twersky, Rabbi moshe ha-darshan ve-hasifrut ha-hitsonit (Jerusalem: Touro College 2001).

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is transformed into reconstruction, and the vision is explained clearly: “this is the interpretation: The woman whom you saw is Zion, which you now behold as a city being built” (4 Ezra 10:43–44 NRSV). Conversely, the Pesiqta has no transformation and no explanation of the vision. The woman is Zion through and through, but the prophet simply cannot recognize her, just like the priest who cannot recognize his own mother, and as the mother who cannot understand that she is the subject of her son’s visions of doom (“I am not speaking of you, Mother”), at the beginning of the pericope.80 The ancient metaphor of female-metropolis is employed here with a significant twist: the apocalyptic promise of reconstruction is gone, and with it the relationship and hierarchy of mashal and nimshal. It is no longer possible to distinguish between real and metaphorical women; the metaphor itself is deconstructed. Jean-François Lyotard taught us in his Le Différend that a catastrophe can include, as part of its effects, also the loss of the ability to represent it.81 That is exactly what we have in this Pesiqta: not only are realities lost in the destruction, but semantics are as well. Physical structures collapse but so do the symbolic structures which served prophets and sages for years. In earlier rabbinic texts what remained constant in the face of destruction were semiotics and taxonomy, those two superstructures upon which the authority of the prophet and the sage were dependent. Now nothing is left. In earlier texts the interpreters were beyond destruction, speaking heart-rending but authoritative words. Here prophecy itself is deconstructed. The pericope’s repeated emphasis on Jerusalem as a woman and the blurred boundaries between metaphor and signified invites us thus to see representation itself and its limits as the major theme of the Pesiqta’s reflection on the destruction. It also calls us to reflect on Jeremiah as a tormented, catastrophic prophet,82 with whom midrash cannot contend with its normal semantic tools. 80  See Heinemann, “A Homily on Jeremiah,” 34, 38 for a literary discussion of the parallelism of these two images at the beginning and the end of the pericope. Compare also the image of the unkempt hair at the beginning of the pericope and the ritual undoing of the hair at its end. 81  Jean-François Lyotard, The Differend: Phrases in Dispute (trans. Georges Van Den Abbeele; Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1988), 56–58. 82  Cf. Heinemann, “A Homily on Jeremiah,” 35: “The Main concern of the author of this pisqa is undoubtedly Jeremiah’s many-faceted personality. He comes to grips with the essential contradictions in the prophet’s personality which emerge from Scripture itself.” I am not convinced, however, by his analysis of the “resolution” which the homily allegedly suggests: “under the hand of the homilist, he becomes more understandable. His motives, apparently in conflict with one another in the biblical story, are now harmonious”. If anything, the narration of Jeremiah’s relationship with his mother only complicates his image (as it usually does).

chapter 46

Jeremiah in Rabbinic Theology and Baruch in Rabbinic Historiography. A Response to Ishay Rosen-Zvi* Shlomo Zuckier Ishay Rosen-Zvi called his enlightening paper a “selective and partial” one, as necessitated by the wide-ranging topic—the treatment of both the character and book of Jeremiah throughout rabbinic literature.1 This paper is similarly selective and partial. Keeping that in mind, I will approach the topic from a different angle and hopefully bring additional perspectives to bear. More specifically, this paper focuses on the rabbis’ treatment of Jeremiah’s theology, in contradistinction to Rosen-Zvi’s focus on Jeremiah’s character. In addition, an analysis of the character of Baruch within different strata of rabbinic literature will be incorporated at the end of this paper. One might offer the following heuristic classification of three ways in which rabbinic literature discusses Jeremiah:2 1.

Acontextual Usage of Jeremiah: The rabbis use verses in Jeremiah for purposes completely unrelated to the content or themes of the book. This often includes legal uses—for an extreme example, ‫היהפך כושי עורו ונמר‬ ‫חברבורותיו‬, “Can the Cushite change his skin or the leopard his spots” (Jer 13:23),3 is interpreted to teach that a bruise, ‫חבורה‬, never fully heals.4 This usage also appears in non-legal, homiletical discussions detached from Jeremiah: “how do we know that the divine chair of glory was formed at the beginning of creation?” The verse in Jeremiah says ‫כסא‬ ‫כבוד מרום מראשון‬, “O Throne of Glory exalted from of old (Jer 17:12).”

*  I extend my thanks to Hindy Najman and Konrad Schmid for inviting me to participate in the conference, and to all those who gave me helpful feedback on prior drafts of this paper. 1  Ishay Rosen-Zvi, “Like a Priest Exposing His Own Wayward Mother: Jeremiah in Rabbinic Literature,” p. 570–90 in this volume. 2  This heuristic classification is largely in line with Rosen-Zvi’s treatment (ibid.,) but emphasizes different distinctions in a manner that hopefully will be illuminating. 3  Unless otherwise noted, all biblical translations are adapted from the NJPS, and all other translations are my own. 4  b. Šab 107b.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���7 | doi ��.��63/9789004320253_047

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As Rosen-Zvi notes, in these cases the words of Jeremiah are viewed within the context of biblical literature or Jewish law at large, allowing for their acontextual use.5 Contextual, Midrashic Usage of Jeremiah: The rabbis use verses from the book or the character of Jeremiah in context, employing the same methods they regularly use in explicatory midrash. Among the typical midrashic moves is one of harmonization, in our case harmonizing Jeremiah with other biblical texts, both in terms of blunting novel Jeremianic themes at odds with biblical literature overall, and filling in what the rabbis see as its gaps when set against biblical or rabbinic theology in general. To give an example, b. Taʿan 28b and y. Taʿan 4:5 pose contradictions between various texts regarding the timing of the Temple’s destruction, and the contradictions are resolved, in standard rabbinic style.6 When harmonization is not relevant, the rabbis often embellish biblical stories, while keeping them within a rabbinic framework. An illustrative example of a rabbinic embellishment is the explication in b. ʿErub. 21 of the prophecy of the two baskets of figs (Jer 24), which defines the good figs as fully righteous people and the bad figs as complete sinners (as opposed to the biblical identification of particular social groups), using a classic rabbinic dichotomic trope. Given this background, it is possible to question the drawing of conclusions from cases of rabbinic rejection of Jeremianic theology, given that in some of these cases the rejection may owe itself primarily to the interpretive need to resolve contradictions between bib-

5  As an aside, I disagree with Rosen-Zvi’s classification of several cases of rabbinic exegesis of Jeremiah as acontextual usage (Rosen-Zvi, “Like a Priest Exposing His Own Wayward Mother: Jeremiah in Rabbinic Literature,” 570–71). Below are two examples: 1. The punning on mikveh as meaning both “hope” and “ritual bath” in m. Yoma 8:9 is, to my mind, a highly contextual move. The rabbis astutely manipulate a pun that likely exists for the biblical author as well. The fact that these words have a “highly anxious context” of “all who forsake it shall be put to shame” only sharpens the need for hope at this juncture. See Malbim to Jer 14:8. 2. Understanding ‫( אל תפגע בי‬Jer 7:16, literally “do not encounter me”) as “do not pray to me” is not removed from its context either: this clause is positioned in parallel to ‫אל תתפלל‬ ‫( בעד העם הזה‬do not pray for this nation) and ‫( ואל תשא בעדם רנה ותפלה‬and do not raise on their behalf song or prayer). While “prayer” might not be the most literal translation of ‫תפגע‬, the rabbinic interpretation is hardly acontextual. 6  The varying dates of the ninth of the fourth month (Jer 52:6–7) and the seventeenth of the fourth month (m. Ta‘an 4:6) are reconciled by understanding them as relating to two different Temples (b. Ta‘an 28b) or as a result of confusion (y. Ta‘an 4:5).

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lical texts rather than to specific rabbinic theological commitments.7 Unlike critical scholars of the Bible, the rabbis prefer not to set up theological disputes between, say, Jeremiah’s critique of Temple-centrism and the Temple-centrism offered by the book of Leviticus, or between Jeremiah’s universalism and the more particularistic outlook of other biblical books.8 The rabbis view the entire Bible as intertextually related, in the sense that various parts of the biblical canon can be drafted for the sake of interpreting their counterparts elsewhere.9 It thus can be hard to disentangle biblical harmonization (itself a theological goal, but absent any particular theological content) from rabbinic theology.10 Ideological or Theological Usage of Jeremiah: There are some cases that cannot be explained as characteristic of rabbinic exegesis but appear to owe their provenance to rabbinic ideology and theology. In these cases, rabbis use prompts from Jeremiah, given its unique content and context, to develop rabbinic ideology. This includes both the resolution of Jeremianic ideas apparently in tension with rabbinic ideology and the use of Jeremiah to develop motifs when there is no such prompt, as well. This category appears to be the most interesting, if the most difficult to discern, and Rosen-Zvi makes several important points here.11 I will try to develop further some of his notes and advance a few of my own.12

7  One might re-frame this point by asking how “internal” or “external” these factors are to the text being studied, if that text is the Bible overall. 8  I would note that, given the prevalence of particularistic theology throughout the Bible, it should not be surprising that the rabbis “mostly turned a blind eye to Jeremiah’s universalism (p. 581).” Any biblical book that stood out in its theology would experience a “regression to the mean” as rabbinic systematization and integration took its course. 9  See, generally, Daniel Boyarin, Intertextuality and the Reading of Midrash (Bloomington, Ind.: Indiana University Press, 1994), chapter 1, and especially p. 17. 10  Of course, rabbinic choice of one biblical book’s theology over another’s in cases of conflict is also significant, but it is not necessarily indicative of rabbinic theology more than of straightforward exegesis.  In response to the difficulty of discerning between these two options, one might simply treat all interpretations offered by the rabbis as “rabbinic theology”; it is still valuable, however, to seek to determine which interpretations emerge more naturally from the biblical material itself and which are owed more fully to the “external” factor of rabbinic theology. 11  I include in this category Rosen-Zvi’s treatment of Jeremiah’s theology of submission and his close readings of Pesiqta de Rab Kahana, among other points. 12  I have not included a category of explication and rabbinic historiography of the character and book of Jeremiah. As noted at the outset, this paper will focus on theology more than character, and rabbinic historiography is similarly not this paper’s focus (leaving aside the addendum on Baruch).

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In exploring this third category I will discuss two primary themes that are ubiquitous within the rabbinic discourse on Jeremiah, as the rabbis utilize the text of Jeremiah as a launching pad for their own theology: 1. 2. 1

Emphasis on Torah study and following the commandments. Responses to the destruction of the Temple. Torah Study

The rabbis in multiple places highlight the importance of both Torah study and observance of the commandments in their interpretation of Jeremiah. Of course, these themes are generally emphasized in rabbinic thought, but the response of the rabbis to lacunae (as they saw them) in Jeremiah is of particular interest, as we will see. Of the many places where the rabbis emphasize these themes, one interpretive thread fleshes out their approach most clearly. Jeremiah (33:20–21, 25–26) emphasizes the importance of the covenant: ‫ ּכֹה ָא ַמר יְ קֹוָ ק‬20 ‫יתי‬ ִ ‫יתי ַהּיֹום וְ ֶאת ְּב ִר‬ ִ ‫ִאם ָּת ֵפרּו ֶאת ְּב ִר‬ ‫ַה ָּליְ ָלה‬ ָ ‫ּול ִב ְל ִּתי ֱהיֹות‬ ְ ‫יֹומם וָ ַליְ ָלה ְּב ִע ָּתם‬ ‫יתי ֻת ַפר ֶאת ָּדוִ ד ַע ְב ִּדי‬ ִ ‫ ּגַ ם ְּב ִר‬21 ‫ ּכֹה ָא ַמר יְ קֹוָ ק‬25 ‫יֹומם וָ ָליְ ָלה‬ ָ ‫יתי‬ ִ ‫ִאם לֹא ְב ִר‬ ‫ֻחּקֹות ָׁש ַמיִ ם וָ ָא ֶרץ לֹא ָׂש ְמ ִּתי‬ ‫ ּגַ ם זֶ ַרע יַ ֲעקֹוב וְ ָדוִ ד ַע ְב ִּדי‬26 . . .‫ֶא ְמ ַאס‬

20 “Thus says the Lord: If you can break my covenant with the day and my covenant with the night, so that day and night will not come at their appointed time, 21 then also my covenant with David my servant may be broken. . . 25 Thus says the Lord: If not for my covenant, day and night, if the ordinances of heaven and earth I have not established, 26 then I will even reject the offspring of Jacob and David my servant. . .13

If we trace the interpretation of this verse throughout rabbinic literature, a common theme emerges. Jeremiah’s powerful discourse on the significance of the covenant is consistently interpreted by the rabbis as referring to various commandments and especially matters related to Torah.

13  For this passage my translation follows the English Standard version, which is closer to the literal meaning of the words.

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m. Ned. 3:11 uses the verse to emphasize the importance of circumcision:14 ‫גדולה מילה‬ ‫שאילולי היא לא ברא הקדוש‬ ‫ברוך הוא את עולמו‬ ‫שנ׳‬ ‫כה אמר יקוק‬ ‫אם לא בריתי יומם ולילה‬ ‫חוקות שמים וארץ לא שמתי‬

Great is circumcision, because without it the Holy One, Blessed be He, would not have created His world, as it says: “Thus says the Lord: If not for My covenant, day and night, the ordinances of heaven and earth I have not established.”15

Circumcision as covenant, recalling Gen 17:13, is read into the Jeremiah verse, and circumcision is thus understood as a necessary condition for the existence of the world. We find a parallel but distinct interpretation elsewhere (b. Pesaḥ 68b):  :‫והא אמ׳ ר׳ אלעזר‬

‫אלמלא תורה‬ ,‫לא נתקיימו שמים וארץ‬ ‫שנ׳‬ ‫אם לא בריתי יומם ולילה‬ 16‫חקות שמים וארץ לא שמתי‬

Rabbi Eliezer said: If not for Torah, Heaven and Earth would not exist, as it says:   “If not for My covenant, day and night, the ordinances of heaven and earth I have not established.”

14  See the close parallel in the Tosefta there (t. Ned. 2:7): ‫דבר אחר גדולה מילה שאילמלי היא‬ ‫“( לא נתקיימו שמים וארץ שנ׳ אם לא בריתי יומם ולילה חקות שמים וארץ לא שמתי‬Another interpretation: circumcision is great, for if not for it, the Heavens and Earth would not stand, as it says: “Thus says the Lord: If not for My covenant of day and night, I would not have appointed the ordinances of heaven and earth.”). Note that, while the Mishnah speaks of God’s creating the world, the Tosefta speaks of the continued existence of the world. See also y. Ned. 3:9, b. Šab. 137b, and b. Ned. 31b–32a. 15  Parma 3173. Other versions have only negligible variants. Note how, in the rabbinic translation, Jer 33:25b becomes part of the apodosis rather than the protasis of the verse, and 26 is detached from 25. 16  The text follows JTS 1623. See a parallel at b. Šab. 33a, which attributes sword, plundering, plague, and famine to a failure to keep Torah in various ways, especially unjust interpretation of the Torah (‫ וקלקול הדין‬,‫ עיוות‬,‫ )עינוי‬and waste of Torah study time (‫)ביטול תורה‬.

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Torah, which is also called a covenant,17 is similarly inserted into Jeremiah’s verse on the great significance of the covenant.18 The rabbis elsewhere extend this verse not to Torah per se, but to supporting the institution of ‫—מעמדות‬Israelite delegated representation in Jerusalem to read the Bible over sacrifices19—and also to opposing one who attacks the rabbis.20 The rabbis, throughout many sources attributed to various sages, interpret the word ‫ברית‬, covenant, to refer to the Torah and commandments in Jeremiah, specifically those practices referred to as a covenant—the covenants of circumcision and Torah. I believe that this prominent explication of the term covenant in Jeremiah to support rabbinic principles is no coincidence in a world where people understand Jeremiah’s discussion of the “new covenant” (‫ברית‬ ‫ )חדשה‬in chapter 31 to justify a different ideology very much at odds with the rabbinic one.21 The rabbis obviously reject the idea of a new covenant superseding the Torah and commandments, and they use precisely Jer 33’s mention of the indispensability of the ‫ ברית‬to support the irrevocability of the “old” covenant. In this sense I diverge somewhat from Rosen-Zvi. I would not say that the rabbis are ignoring Jeremiah’s “New Covenant.”22 Rather they are aware of 17  In the Bible, Torah appears to be called a covenant in Exod 19:5, where Israel is asked to accept the covenant at Sinai. Additionally, the two terms—Torah and covenant—are used in parallel to one another in Isa 24:5 and Ps 28:10. Within rabbinic literature, the identification of Torah as covenant is even stronger: t. Soṭ. 8:11 has a three-way dispute on whether the number of covenants forged over every matter in the Torah is 48; 503,550 [or 603,550 (Lieberman)]; or 7,846,150 [or 9,656,800 (Lieberman)]; one way or another, covenant is clearly central to Torah. 18  It is not immediately clear whether what is referred to in this source is Torah study or the enterprise of accepting and keeping the Torah’s laws. See Rashi and Ṣiyyun le-Nefesh Ḥayyah, ad. loc. In any event, this text supports our general observation on the rabbis’ use of this verse. 19  See b. Meg. 31b. 20  See b. Sanh. 99b and b. Ned. 32a. A text-critical approach might examine the relationship between the various rabbinic texts that use this verse to argue for the indispensability of various commandments to the existence of Heaven and Earth, and it might discover that some of these categories emerge only at a later historical stage. For the purposes of this paper, which examines the rabbinic approach to theologically interpreting Jeremiah as a whole, the precise dating is not of great significance. 21  See, e.g., Heb 8:8. 22  Of course, other rabbinic texts reflect different methods of avoiding the Christian interpretation. See, e.g., Sifra Be-Ḥukkotai 2:5, which explains that Jeremiah’s new covenant is simply an iron-clad version of the original one. See also Eccl. Rab. 2:1.

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Jeremiah’s reference to a “new covenant” and take a stand on what it means, or rather, what it cannot mean, and thus push back against Christian readings of the verse by clearly and repeatedly defining Jeremiah’s ‫ ברית‬as studying Torah and keeping the commandments.23 For the rabbis, Jeremiah’s covenant of Torah and commandments is a condition of creation itself, absolutely immutable. 2

Response to the Destruction

As Rosen-Zvi notes, the rabbis associate worries and sorrow with Jeremiah, although it is important to mention that his character is not completely negative for the rabbis, in light of the Talmudic claim that Jeremiah authored the mostly dispassionate book of Kings in addition to the more lachrymose Jeremiah and Lamentations.24 What theological material can be gleaned from the rabbis’ treatment of Jeremiah on the destruction? I believe that a rabbinic response to the destruction is developed in several ways on the basis of Jeremiah. There are several subthemes, or problems, to which the rabbinic Jeremiah responds: (1.) Why was the the nation exiled? (2.) Is there hope after exile? and (3.) Pro-exilic theology. 2.1 Why was the Nation Exiled? It is clear why one would turn to Jeremiah in trying to explain why the Temple was destroyed and the nation exiled. Jeremiah several times raises this very question, including at Jer 9:11–13:25 ‫  ִמי ָה ִאיׁש ֶה ָח ָכם וְ ֵיָבן ֶאת זֹאת‬11 ‫וַ ֲא ֶׁשר ִּד ֶּבר ִּפי יְ קֹוָ ק ֵא ָליו‬ ‫וְ יַ ּגִ ָדּה‬ ‫ַעל ָמה ָא ְב ָדה ָה ָא ֶרץ‬ ‫נִ ְּצ ָתה ַכ ִּמ ְד ָּבר‬ :‫ִמ ְּב ִלי ע ֵֹבר‬

11 What man is so wise that he understands this? To whom has the Lord’s mouth spoken, so that he can explain it: Why is the land in ruins, laid waste like a wilderness with none passing through?

23  In contrast to the Damascus Document’s explicit usage of this verse to expound on the community’s renewed relationship with God (VII:21), the rabbis’ surreptitious interpretation of the new covenant is more effective in this case. 24  Rosen-Zvi, “Like a Priest Exposing His Own Wayward Mother: Jeremiah in Rabbinic Literature,” p. 570–90; See b. B. Bat. 14a. 25  See also Jer 5:19; 16:10–12; and 22:8–9.

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‫אמר יְ קֹוָ ק‬ ֶ ֹ ‫ וַ ּי‬12 ‫ּתֹור ִתי‬ ָ ‫ַעל ָעזְ ָבם ֶאת‬ ‫יהם‬ ֶ ֵ‫ֲא ֶׁשר נָ ַת ִּתי ִל ְפנ‬ ‫קֹולי‬ ִ ‫וְ לֹא ָׁש ְמעּו ְב‬ :‫וְ לֹא ָה ְלכּו ָבּה‬ ‫ וַ ּיֵ ְלכּו ַא ֲח ֵרי ְׁש ִררּות ִל ָּבם‬13 ‫וְ ַא ֲח ֵרי ַה ְּב ָע ִלים‬ ‫בֹותם‬ ָ ‫ֲא ֶׁשר ִל ְּמדּום ֲא‬

12 The Lord replied: Because they forsook my Torah I had set before them. They did not obey Me and they did not follow it, 13 but followed their own willful heart and followed the Baalim, as their fathers had taught them.

The rabbis in several places expound these verses. Rosen-Zvi explicates certain elements of theodicy in the rabbinic discussions—the sense of justice, accompanied by a degree of optimism—that the rabbis extend in their treatment of these verses.26 Many of their explications of God’s answer to the question relate to the abandonment of Torah, to which the verse refers (‫)על עזבם את תורתי‬, whether through wasting Torah study time ‫)ביטול) תורה‬,27 not reciting a blessing before studying Torah,28 or not supporting Torah study monetarily.29 In addition to this, we find accounts that attribute the destruction to not fulfilling the commandments generally30 and to committing idolatry (a sin which appears in the verse) in particular.31 The rabbis elsewhere point to different sins on the basis of other texts,32 but the plurality if not majority of explanations stem from the explication of this verse in Jeremiah.33 These themes clearly confirm the rabbinic goal of strengthening support for Torah study and fulfillment of its laws. Furthermore, this ideology conforms to the rabbis’ general belief in a God who is active in history and expects obedience of the commandments from His people. 26  Rosen-Zvi, “Like a Priest Exposing His Own Wayward Mother: Jeremiah in Rabbinic Literature,” 578. 27  See Avot of Rabbi Natan B chapter 5. 28  See b. Ned. 81a = b. B. Meṣi‘a 85a. 29  See Lamentations Rabbah, Petiḥtas, see under Rabbi Abba. 30  See Sifre Deuteronomy, Ekev, piska 41. 31  See Midrash Haggadah (Buber) Num, 33, see under Elleh Mas’ei. 32  See the two lengthiest treatments, b. Šabb. 119b and b. Yom 9b, among others. For some of these accounts, the destruction of the Temple and the exile from the land may run into one another. 33  It is possible to argue that these central themes of rabbinic theology match those of Deuteronomy and its associated theology: both have a focus on Torah and keeping the commandments to uphold the covenant, where failure to uphold the covenant leads to exile and suffering. This continuity is unsurprising, as is the fact that Jeremiah is a key link in the chain, especially regarding the rabbinic theology of history.

A Response To Ishay Rosen-zvi

599

2.2 Is There Hope After Exile? Hand-in-hand with these theological explanations justifying the exile are rabbinic approaches regarding the prospects of a nation in exile, whether and how exile can be overcome and reversed. Of course, these rabbinic statements about Jeremiah’s experience of the destruction of the First Temple are composed after the destruction of the Second Temple, many of them by rabbis in Babylonia, the same place to which Jeremiah had fled according to rabbinic tradition.34 The rabbis thus see themselves in a very similar situation to Jeremiah’s addressees and are uniquely situated for commenting upon and explicating his words.35 The rabbis offer several different reactions to the state of exile. One rabbinic response is to maintain memory of the Temple’s existence in contemporary practice by enacting commemorations of the Temple. These commemorations are noted in several places, as explicated in the Bavli (b. Sukkah 41a = b. Roš Haš. 30a):   ‫מנאלן דעבדינן זכר למקדש‬ ‫אמ׳ ר׳ יוח׳ דא׳ קרא‬ ‫כי אעלה ארוכה לך וממכותיך ארפאך‬ ‫נאם י״י‬ ‫כי נדחה קראו לך‬ ‫ציון היא דורש אין לה‬ ‫מכלל דבעיא דרישה‬

From where do we know that we establish commemorations of the Temple? Rabbi Yohanan said: as the verse says (Jer 30:17): “For I will bring healing to you and cure you of your wounds—declares the Lord. For they called you ‘Outcast,’ she is Zion, she has no seeker.” this implies that she needs seeking!36

For the rabbis, part of the recovery process from destruction is ensuring that the nation seeks out and recalls the Temple throughout its members’ lives and ritual practice.

34  See Seder Olam Rabbah, ch. 26. 35  In fact, we find that the rabbis connect the two destructions in a variety of places. See b. Sanh. 98b, b. Ned. 32b, and b. Taʿan. 28b. 36  The text follows London 5508 to b. Suk 41a. (Other manuscripts have minor variations that do not change the text’s meaning.) For a recent treatment of these matters, see Steven Fraade, “Memory and Loss in Early Rabbinic Text and Ritual,” in Memory and Identity in Ancient Judaism and Early Christianity: A Conversation with Barry Schwartz (ed. Tom Thatcher; SemeiaSt 78; Atlanta: SBL, 2014), 11–27.

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Aside from commemoration of the Temple, the rabbis also emphasize repentance as a method of return, another charge that integrates well with a theology attributing physical destruction to sins. In b. Sanh. 97b–98a, two verses in Jeremiah are seen as assurance that if and only if Israel repents will they be redeemed (‫ ואם לאו—אין נגאלין‬,‫)אם ישראל עושין תשובה—נגאלין‬, a position that R. Eliezer adopts against the approach of R. Joshua, for whom redemption is secured regardless of repentance.37 This redemption-as-remedy approach takes a significant step forward with the argument that repentance will not just reverse the exile, but that exile itself leads to atonement. Let us consider b. Sanh. 37b: ‫אמ׳ רב יהודה אמ׳ רב‬ ‫גלות מכפרת על שלשה דברי׳‬ )‫שנ׳ כה אמר י״י (וגו׳‬ ‫היושב בעיר הזאת ימות בחרב ברעב‬ ‫ובדבר‬ ‫והיוצא אל הכשדים יחיה‬

‫והיתה לו נפשו לשלל וחי‬ ‫(ר׳ יוחנ׳) אמ׳‬ ‫גלות מכפרת על הכל שנ׳‬ ‫כה אמר י״י‬ ‫כתבו את האיש הזה ערירי‬ ‫גבר לא יצלח בימיו‬

Rav Yehuda said Rav said: Exile atones for three things, as it says (Jer. 21:9): “Thus says the Lord: Whoever remains in this city shall die by the sword, by famine, and by pestilence; but whoever leaves (and goes over) to the Chaldeans who are besieging you shall live; he shall at least gain his life as loot.” Rabbi Yohanan says: Exile atones for everything, as it says (Jer. 22:30): (“Thus said the Lord:) Record this man as without succession, one who shall never be found acceptable;

37  The two supporting verses are Jer 3:22 and 4:1: ‫שובו בנים שובבים ארפה משובתיכם הננו‬ ‫“( אתנו לך כי אתה יקוק אלהינו‬Turn back, O rebellious children, I will heal your afflictions!”); and ‫“( אם תשוב ישראל נאם יקוק אלי תשוב ואם תסיר שקוציך מפני ולא תנוד‬If you return, O Israel—declares the Lord—if you return to Me, if you remove your abominations from My presence and do not waver.”). Opposing verses are adduced from several places, including one from Jeremiah 3:14 that allows for a return, but only of a righteous elite.  I presented the Talmud’s second rendering of Rabbi Joshua’s position, that Israel does not need repentance in order to be redeemed. Its first suggested understanding of his position is that, even if Israel does not repent at first, it will be forced by a coercive regime to repent and will be redeemed as a result of its inevitable repentance.

A Response To Ishay Rosen-zvi

‫כי לא יצלח מזרעו איש יושב על כסא‬ ‫דוד ומושל עוד ביהודה‬ ‫וכיון דגלה כתי׳ ביה‬

. . .‫בני יכניה אסיר שלתיאל בנו‬

601 for no man of his offspring shall be accepted to sit on the throne of David and to rule again in Judah.” And after he was exiled it says (1 Chr 3:17): “And the sons of Jeconiah are Asir (his son) Shealtiel his son.”38

For the rabbis, Jeremiah teaches that exile both atones for misdeeds (thus averting punishment) and facilitates a repentance that can reverse exile. Thus, despite the fact that Jeremiah can be read at times as castigating Israel and not giving her an option of repentance, as Rosen-Zvi notes, the rabbis use precisely Jeremiah’s prophecies to show that there is always an option of repentance, and thus prioritize Jeremiah’s consolation prophecies.39 In the theological sense, the book and character of Jeremiah are largely interpreted optimistically by the rabbis. 2.3 Pro-Exile Theology Related to but distinct from the questions of why the exile took place and how it can be overcome is the valuation of the exile: just how deleterious is the state of exile? Is it possible for the rabbis to construct a pro-exilic theology? RosenZvi notes Rav Yehuda’s statement (b. Ketub. 110b–111a, cited below) that there is a positive commandment to live in Babylonia, stemming from the verse ‫בבלה יובאו‬, “they shall be brought to Babylon” (Jer. 27:22), but he argues that Jeremiah’s support for the exile was “unrealized potential” in rabbinic literature, and was not sufficiently developed.40 Let us examine this verse in closer detail (Jer 27:21–22):

38  Following the Jerusalem 1 manuscript. In citing Jer. 21:9, several words are left out or modified, and the word ‫ וחי‬at the end of the verse appears to have been inserted based on Jer. 38:2. 39  Rosen-Zvi, “Like a Priest Exposing His Own Wayward Mother: Jeremiah in Rabbinic Literature,” 578–79. 40  Ibid., 582–83.

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‫  ִּכי כֹה ָא ַמר יְ קֹוָ ק ְצ ָבאֹות‬21 ‫ֹלהי יִ ְׂש ָר ֵאל‬ ֵ ‫ֱא‬ ָ ‫ַעל ַה ֵּכ ִלים ַה‬ ‫ּנֹות ִרים ֵּבית יְ קֹוָ ק‬ ִ‫ירּוׁש ָלם‬ ָ ִ‫הּודה ו‬ ָ ְ‫ּובית ֶמ ֶלְך י‬ ֵ ‫יּובאּו‬ ָ ‫  ָּב ֶב ָלה‬22 ‫וְ ָׁש ָּמה יִ ְהיּו‬ ‫ַעד יֹום ָּפ ְק ִדי א ָֹתם‬ ‫נְ ֻאם יְ קֹוָ ק‬ ‫יתים‬ ִ ‫וְ ַה ֲע ִל‬ ‫וַ ֲה ִׁשיב ִֹתים ֶאל ַה ָּמקֹום ַהּזֶ ה‬

21 For thus said the Lord of Hosts, the God of Israel, concerning the vessels remaining in the House of the Lord, in the royal palace of Judah, and in Jerusalem: 22 They shall be brought to Babylon, and there they shall remain, until the day I redeem them— says the Lord— and bring them up and restore them to this place.

The straightforward meaning of these verses regards the Temple vessels, which are to remain in Babylonia until the time of their redemption. This appears to be a lamentable reality, namely that these utensils are unfortunately trapped in Babylonia for the time being. However, Rav Yehuda reads these verses in a significantly different way (b. Ketub. 110b–111a): ‫ דא׳ רב יהוד׳‬As Rav Yehuda said: ‫ כל העול׳ מבבל לאר׳ ישר׳‬Anyone who ascends from Babylon to the Land of ‫עובר בעשה‬ ‫שנ׳ בבלה יובאו‬ ‫ושמה יהיו‬ ‫עד יום פקדי אות׳ נאם ה׳‬

Israel violates a positive commandment, as it says (Jer. 27:22) “They shall be brought to Babylon, and there they shall remain, until the day I redeem them, says the Lord.”41

The Babylonian sage Rav Yehuda invests living in Babylonia with a positive commandment by turning the Jeremianic injunction on its head in two different ways. He first redefines the subject of “shall be brought” (‫ )יובאו‬as Israel rather than the vessels, and he also treats the verbs “shall be brought” (‫)יובאו‬ and “shall remain” (‫ )יהיו‬as prescriptive (jussive) rather than descriptive (indicative) statements. “The vessels will go to Babylonia and stay there” becomes “Israel must go to Babylonia and stay there.”42 The theological ramifications of this reading are clear: such an approach understands that the exile to

41  Text following Vatican 113. 42  See Isaiah Gafni’s treatment of this issue in his Land, Center and Diaspora: Jewish Constructs in Late Antiquity (JSPSup 21; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1997), 74–77.

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603

Babylonia is not (only) an unfortunate decree resultant of Israel’s ineffectiveness, but a religious injunction, as God has decreed that the Jews remain in Babylonia until the redemption.43 This message can certainly be seen within the biblical Jeremiah’s theology more generally. As Jeremiah notes elsewhere,44 one should not even attempt to leave Babylonia, but should settle the land and make it one’s home until the time that God decides it proper to return.45 This sentiment is echoed in rabbinic statements that emphasize that God’s presence dwells in Babylonia, in its houses of prayer and study.46 However, in b. Meg. 29a, the Land of Israel scholar Rabbi Elazar ha-Kappar notes that these very houses of study and prayer in Babylonia will be relocated to Israel at the appropriate time, citing a verse from Jeremiah. Such an approach may very well see the stay in Babylonia as temporary and lamentable. Thus, the book of Jeremiah is used in rabbinic literature to argue for both ideological positions; it is of note, however, that the pro-exilic reading is attributed to a Babylonian scholar, among others,47 while the rabbi living in the Land of Israel follows the anti-exilic track.48 This appears to fit with a broader trend in which Babylonian 43  The specific language of ‫“( כל העולה מבבל‬anyone who ascends from Babylonia”), an ascent which is prohibited until God’s redemption, may echo the language relating to Ezra’s fateful return from Babylonia to the Land of Israel in the time of the redemption. Note Ezra 7:6, ‫“( הּוא ֶעזְ ָרא ָע ָלה ִמ ָּב ֶבל‬This Ezra ascended from Babylon. . .”). See my forthcoming article on the rabbinic use of this verse as foundational to (Babylonian) rabbinic life, “Hu Ezra Alah mi-Bavel: Ezra as an Exemplar of Babylonian Superiority in Rabbinic Literature.” 44  See Jer 29:4–7. Oddly, the rabbis do not treat these verses as relevant to living in exile, supporting Rosen-Zvi’s claim that rabbinic literature does not develop this theme as much as it could have (“Like a Priest Exposing His Own Wayward Mother: Jeremiah in Rabbinic Literature,” 582–83.). It is possible, however, that this Talmudic reading draws implicitly from Jer 29:4–7. 45  One should also note the context in b. Ketub. 110, where there are many other opinions that support life in Babylonia, as well as some conflicting positions. See Jeffrey L. Rubenstein, “Addressing the Attributes of the Land of Israel: An Analysis of Bavli Ketubbot 1 10b-l 12a” (Hebrew), in ed. Isaiah M. Gafni, Center and Diaspora—The Land of Israel and the Diaspora in the Second Temple, Mishnah, and Talmud Periods (Jerusalem, 2004), 159–88. 46  See, e.g., b. Meg. 29a and b. Pesaḥ 87a, which uses Ezek 11:16 as a prooftext. 47  The pro-exilic reading is attributed to Rava (Babylonian) as well as to Rabbi Isaac (Land of Israel). The correlation in this instance is thus only partial. 48  In another text (Sifre Mase 161= Mekilta de-Pasḥa 14; a parallel appears in b. Meg. 29a as well, attributed to Rabbi Shimon bar Yoḥai), Rabbi Akiva notes that the Divine Presence enters exile in Elam along with Israel, and it will later return. It is not clear if this expresses a pro-exilic theology or just a statement about the way God functions within an unfortunate exilic existence.

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rabbis have a more positive outlook towards the Babylonian exile than their Land of Israel peers.49 3

Baruch as Prophet in Rabbinic Literature

Given the enormity of the topic at hand, this paper has not heretofore undertaken comparative temporal and geographic analyses of varying rabbinic treatments of Jeremiah (other than the point immediately above). Before concluding, I would like to note one case where it may be possible to chart some variation among the rabbinic materials in interpreting Jeremiah. As other papers in this volume discuss,50 in the reception of Jeremiah we find the emergence of Baruch as a prophetic figure, as compared to the purely scribal role played by Baruch in the book of Jeremiah. In these later writings, Baruch inherits the role of prophet from his master Jeremiah, drawing on a sense of continuity between the two figures. If we examine the various rabbinic corpora, some present Baruch alongside Jeremiah as a prophet, while others see his role solely as that of a scribe. In a few places Baruch appears on a list of prophets, without comment. For one example, let us examine Sifre Zuta chapter 10:51 ‫ונאמר ותשב בקרב ישראל עד היום‬ ‫הזה‬ ‫ר׳ שמעון אומר‬ ‫לפי שהיום הזה רודה ברקיע‬ ‫כך יהא זרעך קיים לפני לעולם‬

And it is said “and she [Rahab] dwelt among the Israelites until this day” (Josh. 6:25). Rabbi Simeon says: Because [just as] this day rules in the sky, so too your offspring will exist before me forever,

49  Relevant to this point is the entirety of Gafni’s monograph, Land, Center and Diaspora. See especially his claim that the Babylonian rabbis “project the land of its provenance [Babylonia] as something akin to a second Jewish homeland,” p. 14.  In an unpublished paper examining the rabbis’ treatments of the theme of Israel’s marriage to God (“Like a Bride in Her Father’s House”: Rabbinic Reflections on the State of Exile in bPesahim 87,” presented at Indiana University on February 20, 2014), I argue that Babylonian depictions of Israel’s exile as a vacation from the marital home rather than a divorce justifies life in Babylon, at least temporarily, very much a parallel argument. 50  See Matthias Henze and Liv Lied, “Jeremiah, Baruch, and Their Books: Three Phases in a Changing Relationship,” p. 330–53, as well as other articles in this volume. 51  This text has parallels in Sifre Numbers 78 and b. Meg. 14b.

A Response To Ishay Rosen-zvi

‫שעמדו ממנה שמונה נביאים‬ ‫וכולהם כהנים ואלו הן‬ ‫ירמיה וחלקיהו שרייה מחסייה ברוך‬ ‫בן נריה חנמאל שלום ויש אומרין אף‬ ‫יחזקאל ובוזי‬

 

605 as eight prophets arose from her,53 and all were priests, and they are: Jeremiah and Hilkiyahu, Saraiah, Mahasiah, Baruch son of Neriah, Hanamel, Shallum, and some say also Ezekiel and Buzi.

For someone whose only biblical actions involve writing, reading, transporting books, and fleeing, and whose only epithet is ‫“( הסופר‬the scribe”), including of Baruch on this list is a bold move. Similarly striking is the assertion that Baruch was a priest, as there is no biblical support for that claim.53 Multiple other rabbinic texts similarly point in this direction, whether by calling Baruch a prophet outright,54 or implicitly doing so by placing him in the context of prophet lists.55 One Midrash diverges somewhat from the standard position, presenting an impassioned plea by Baruch to God to receive prophecy that is rebuffed. But implicit even in prophetic failure is the prophetic discourse, as Baruch is called “a student of a prophet” and has an interest in receiving prophecy, facts clearly absent from the biblical account.56 Notably, all of these texts were composed and redacted in the Land of Israel, from the 2nd through 4th centuries ce. When we compare the later, Babylonian material, a very different picture emerges. The Bavli, outside of one passage citing some of the Tannaitic statements cited above,57 does not depict Baruch as a prophet. Rather, in statements stemming from the Babylonian Amoraim, we find two primary portraits of him—as a scribe and as a Torah scholar. Megillah 16b notes that the lure of Baruch’s Torah knowledge prevented Ezra, his student, from ascending to the Land of Israel. The scribal laws of the Babylonian Talmud are learned from

52  ‫ ממנו‬exists in some printed editions, but it should be rendered as ‫ממנה‬, given context and parallels. 53  As all of the characters on the list are associated with Jeremiah (and Ezekiel, for one tradition) in some way, it would assume that their statuses are asserted by attraction (and/ or presumed relation?) to Jeremiah (and Ezekiel), whose prophecy and priesthood are (each) clearly asserted at the outset of his book. 54   y. Sotah 9:13. 55  See y. Ned. 6:8 = y. Sanh. 1, Seder Olam Rabbah chap. 26. 56  See Mekilta de-Rabbi Ishmael, Parsha 1. The conversation is read into Jer 45:3, and Baruch’s request for rest (‫ )מנוחה‬is understood as prophecy. God responds that prophets only receive mantic inspiration on account of Israel’s merit, and the impious spirit of the times rendered his rise to prophecy impossible. 57   b. Meg. 14b–15a, citing Sifre Zuta 10 and Seder Olam Rabbah 20.

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Jeremiah’s dictation to Baruch, as noted in b. B Bat. 15a, b. Menaḥ 30a, and b. Menaḥ 34a. Furthermore, some Babylonian Midrashim offer lists of prophets where Baruch appears to be explicitly excluded. See Pesiqta de-Rab Kahana 16 (Nahamu): ‫א״ר חננה בריה דר׳ אבא‬ ‫בשמונה מקומות כת׳ יאמר אלהיכם‬ ‫כנגד שמונה נביאים שנתנבאו לאחר בית‬ ‫המקדש‬ ‫ואילו הן יואל עמוס צפניה זכריה‬ ‫ומלאכי יחזקאל וירמיה‬

Rav Haninah son of Rav Abba said: In eight places scripture says “your God,” parallel to the eight prophets who prophesied after the Temple, and they are: Joel, Amos, Zephaniah, Haggai, Zachariah, and Malachi, Ezekiel, and Jeremiah.

Note that, although both earlier (Jeremiah and Ezekiel) and later (Haggai, Zachariah, and Malachi) prophets are noted here, Baruch is absent.58 What are we to make of this discrepancy between the treatments of Baruch in the two centers of Jewish life? One wonders whether Baruch’s prophetic role in early Land of Israel texts correlates to or is affected by other traditions circulating there at that time. In that vein, many scholars presume that 2 Baruch, in which Baruch’s prophetic career commences, was composed and circulated in the Land of Israel immediately prior to the emergence of Tannaitic literature that uniquely emphasizes Baruch’s prophetic side.59 Furthermore, Matthias Henze and Liv Lied present in this volume the historical development of Baruch’s personality within pseudepigraphic literature that is strikingly similar to the one outlined above in rabbinic literature. They argue that Baruch’s role shifts from that of a scribe in the biblical book of Jeremiah, to the more central role of prophet in the early common era in the Land of Israel, only to return to a scribal existence in later centuries. As they put it: 58  One can compare this list to Seder Olam Rabbah 20, which includes Joel, Nahum, and Habakkuk in the time of Manasseh; Zephaniah, Jeremiah, and Ezekiel around the time of the destruction; Baruch, Saraiah, and Daniel in the time of Nebuchadnezzar; and Mordechai, Haggai, Zachariah, and Malachi in the second year of Darius. Interestingly, the Bavli’s list hews to the biblical canon, only including as prophets those who have books within the Prophets (and thus excluding Baruch, Saraiah, Daniel, and Mordechai). 59  See, e.g., Carla Sulzbach, “The Fate of Jerusalem in 2 Baruch and 4 Ezra: From Earth to Heaven and Back?” in Interpreting 4 Ezra and 2 Baruch: International Studies (ed. Gabriele Boccaccini and Jason M. Zurawski; LSTS 87; London: Bloomsbury, 2014), 138–52 at 138; and Liv Ingeborg Lied, “Recent Scholarship on 2Baruch: 2000–2009,” Currents in Biblical Research 9 (2011): 238–76 at 246.

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The friendship between Jeremiah and Baruch went through three phases. Jeremiah is the dominant character in the biblical book of Jeremiah. Baruch then takes over and becomes the protagonist, [a prophet in his own right,] in 2 Baruch. Throughout the transmission history of the Syriac apocalypse and its independently circulating detached parts, Baruch regresses and becomes the scribe again.60 There is insufficient evidence here to make a hard claim, but the coincidence of rabbinic and non-rabbinic views of Baruch as a prophet in roughly the same milieu should at least lead one to speculate on this point of connection. 4 Conclusion In conclusion, we have seen that much of the rabbinic treatment of Jeremiah simply consists of what the rabbis do with the rest of the Bible: they use Jeremiah’s verses for unrelated purposes or embellish and harmonize biblical passages, and we must be careful not to over-read these cases. However, some other rabbinic reworkings of Jeremiah are more uniquely constructive. A range of voices unanimously reads into Jeremiah’s covenant a commitment to Torah study and/or keeping the commandments, and the theological trauma of exile spurs a variety of responses on why the exile occurred, how it might be overcome, and whether exile can be a somewhat positive state of affairs. Of course, there is much room for further research regarding rabbinic treatments of Jeremiah, including further comparative analysis of divergent rabbinic treatments of the book of Jeremiah, as demonstrated in the excursus surrounding the character of Baruch.

60  Henze and Lied, “Jeremiah, Baruch, and Their Books,” p. 353. The bracketed section is inserted from 330.

chapter 47

Probing the Rabbis’ Criticism and Silence with Regard to Jeremiah. A Response to Ishay Rosen-Zvi Jordash Kiffiak In his engaging paper Ishay Rosen-Zvi raises a fascinating question as to the origin of the rabbis’ critical view of Jeremiah and their silence on various Jeremianic themes. He argues that the rabbis’ “pointed criticism” of the figure of Jeremiah and their concomitant failure to utilize the book of Jeremiah “to decode their own time, though this may seem like the most obvious use of the book,”1 are primarily the result of a rabbinic aversion to “Jeremiah’s theology of doom” and “his uncompromising admonitions.”2 Rosen-Zvi’s argument grabs the imagination, especially through his discussion of the graphic and conflicted text from Pesiq. Rab. 26, which he offers for illustrative purposes: here Jeremiah the priest paradoxically offers the water of the sotah ritual to his own “mother.” In this brief response I submit some questions in an attempt to test and potentially help refine Rosen-Zvi’s argument. Rosen-Zvi identifies six Jeremianic themes that are “ignored” by the rabbis— spiritual worship at the expense of sacrifices and the temple, a new covenant, universalism, submission to a foreign conquering power, living in foreign land, and a belligerent eschatology. For the “new covenant” theme, Rosen-Zvi perceptively asks, “Could this ignoring be a reaction to the adoption of the ‘New Testament’ in the New Testament. . .?”3 Tacitly, then, he seems to accept that the rabbis’ aversion to Jeremiah’s vituperative stance towards Judah is not the sole reason for the rabbis’ reluctance to use the term “new covenant” to interpret the experiences of their own community. Following Rosen-Zvi’s own lead, questions in a similar vein could profitably be asked of some other neglected Jeremianic themes. Do the rabbis fail to take up Jeremiah’s insistence on the efficacy of spiritual worship over sacrifices in the temple as a reaction, even if only in part, to Christian appropriation of the theme? Rosen-Zvi notes the use of Jer 7:11 in Jesus’ criticism of the mismanage1  Ishay Rosen-Zvi, “Like a Priest Exposing His Own Wayward Mother: Jeremiah in Rabbinic Literature,” in this volume, 583. 2  Ibid., 584. 3  Ibid., 581.

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ment of the temple system, as related in Mark 11:17 and parallels. How much of a role did this and related criticisms of the temple play in subsequent Christian literature? To what extent might competition with Christian interpretive communities have informed the rabbis’ avoidance of Jeremiah on this point? Similarly, how much of an impact did the Christian appropriation of the theme of universalism in Jeremiah and Isaiah have on the rabbis, who “turned a blind eye” to the notion? Universalism became a hallmark of the Christian communities early on and continued to be characteristic of the movement. How might competition of interpretive approaches have influenced the rabbinic aversion to using Jeremiah in this regard? Aside from competition with other interpretive communities, one may ask whether the memory of the destruction of the temple in Jerusalem and the continued absence of such a sacred space had an influence on rabbinic aversion to the Jeremianic criticism of the temple. Rosen-Zvi seems to hint at this possibility. The question of the ways in which the year 70 c.e. was a watershed is, as studies over the past decades have shown, multifaceted and resists simplification.4 The difficulty in answering the question is due in large part to the limitations of the evidence. Martin Goodman presents a strong case for the loss of the colossal religious site in Jerusalem having a continuing influence on Jewish identity throughout the Roman Empire. One factor was a one-time event with far-reaching and long-term social implications: the atypical triumphal procession in Rome, in which objects from the Jerusalem temple were put on display.5 Two other factors were on-going. The first was a yearly tax imposed by Vespasian on all Jews in the empire, including women and children, that took the place of the Jewish temple tax and was dedicated to the temple of Jupiter on the Capitol. The second was the prohibition against rebuilding the Jerusalem temple—an uncharacteristic and “outrageous” approach to the religious sentiments of people groups subjected to Roman rule.6 Bar Kokhba’s 4  See the contributions in Daniel R. Schwartz and Zeev Weiss, eds., On Jews and Judaism before and after the Destruction of the Second Temple (Ancient Judaism and Early Christianity 78; Leiden: Brill, 2012). 5  Not only was it “not standard Roman practice to glory in the destruction of enemy temples,” but also it was common for foreign gods to be incorporated into the Roman pantheon; cf. Martin Goodman, Rome and Jerusalem: The Clash of Ancient Civilizations (London: Allen Lane, 2007), 452. The peculiar triumphal procession following the capture of Jerusalem was then engraved into public conscience by the remodeling of the center of Rome “to reflect the victory, with two triumphal arches dominating the traditional route of all triumphal processions,” ibid., 453. Among the relief sculptures, Jewish religious objects were depicted as prominent booty. 6  Goodman, Rome and Jerusalem, 454, 464.

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failed attempt to throw off Roman rule, with an envisioned rebuilt temple in Jerusalem as a rallying cry, may well have cemented the idea of the temple’s permanent absence in the minds of many. Noting the rabbis’ proclivity for “temple-oriented thinking,” Rosen-Zvi observes, “They have no use for criticism of the temple.”7 Acknowledging implicitly that the observation is applicable to other biblical prophets who criticize the cult, Rosen-Zvi focuses on Jeremiah, whose superlative emphasis on “spiritual worship” over cultic observance he takes to have been particularly distasteful to the rabbis. But one may ask: does the memory of the destruction of the temple, alongside its continued absence, contribute to the rabbinic aversion of reference to Jeremiah’s (and others’) criticism of the failings of those governing and using the temple system? The liturgical anthology of the Ninth of Av season, where one might expect “prolonged reflection on the demise of the temple and its cult,” may be instructive in this regard.8 Elsie R. Stern notes, “It is striking how little the haftarot and midrashim of the season focus on the temple and the temple cult.”9 This observation holds true for texts of both rebuke and consolation.10 The selected readings focus instead on the people and the city of Jerusalem, itself often a metaphor for the people. In marked contrast the temple is a central theme of the piyyutim for the Tisha b’Av season—texts which do not have their origin in rabbinic circles.11 These observations are particularly pertinent to Rosen-Zvi’s essay, roughly a third of which is dedicated to Pesiqta de Rab Kahana and Pesiqta Rabbati. The question arises, then, as to whether the rabbis may have seen certain types of attention focused on the Jerusalem temple—attention that assumes the importance of its physical existence, whether through criticism of how it was run or through hope that it would be rebuilt—as a threat to their own constructed basis of power? How might such a perceived threat have affected how they approached Jeremiah? 7  Rosen-Zvi, “Like a Priest Exposing His Own Wayward Mother: Jeremiah in Rabbinic Literature,” 580. 8  Elsie R. Stern, From Rebuke to Consolation: Exegesis and Theology in the Liturgical Anthology of the Ninth of Av Season (BJS 338; Providence: Brown Judaic Studies, 2004), 175. 9   Stern, From Rebuke to Consolation, 175. 10  The temple is mostly absent from not only the three haftarot of rebuke but also the seven haftarot of consolation. 11  Stern, From Rebuke to Consolation, 153, observes, “[T]he entire set of kedushtot for the season . . . articulates a nostalgic yearning for the temple and a fervent desire for its restitution in the messianic age.”

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Is the primary or only reason for the rabbis’ failure to employ Jeremiah’s belligerent eschatology their reservations about the prophet’s unrelenting criticism? In an earlier era, the report of a vision of Jeremiah, “a man who loves the family of Israel and prays much for the people and the holy city,” handing over a golden sword to Judah Maccabee was described as the means by which Judah brought courage to national forces preparing to fight a Gentile enemy (2 Macc 15:14 NRSV, cf. vv. 12–16).12 What key differences exist between the socio-political context in which this story was written and the context of the rabbis who wrote and compiled the midrashim? To what extent did the catastrophic failure of the Great Revolt, followed by the failure of the Bar Kokhba Revolt, act as a catalyst for exorcising rabbinic hopes of a militant eschatology? It must not be forgotten that Rabbi Akiva supported Bar Kokhba as the messiah, a tragic mistake that contemporary and subsequent rabbis would need to distance themselves from.13 To illustrate his claim that Jeremiah is the object of pointed criticism, Rosen-Zvi examines two midrashic pericopae designated for the first Sabbath of the Tisha b’Av season. How severe is the rabbinic criticism of Jeremiah in relation to that directed at other prophets? In Pesiqta de Rab Kahana 13:12 Ezekiel, alongside Jeremiah, is a recipient of an accusation by “the Israelites” that he was a descendent of “the whore, Rahab,” who according to some (13:5) should have been destroyed along with the other Gentile inhabitants of Canaan.14 Another negative point of contact between Ezekiel and Jeremiah is already latent in Rosen-Zvi’s analysis. The picture of Jeremiah demanding his own mother to perform the sotah ritual, thereby threatening the prophet’s own pedigree, reveals “the grave trouble”15 that Jeremiah’s role as a condemner of the people causes the homilists. Yet, t. Meg. 3.34, which Rosen-Zvi cites, reveals 12  The sword is an important symbol in the prophecy of the cup (cf. Jer 25:27–29), a text which Rosen-Zvi notes (Rosen-Zvi, “Like a Priest Exposing His Own Wayward Mother: Jeremiah in Rabbinic Literature,” 583) “finds no resonance in classic rabbinic midrashim.” 13  Though I have focused on the Great Revolt and the Bar Kokhba Revolt, Nadav Sharon, “Setting the Stage: The Effects of the Roman Conquest and the Loss of Sovereignty,” in Was 70 CE a Watershed in Jewish History?  (ed. Daniel R. Schwartz and Zeev Weiss; Ancient Judaism and Christianity 78; Leiden: Brill, 2012), 415–45 at 445, correctly draws attention to the impact that the events of 67–37 bce and the resultant loss of independence had on the development of “post-Destruction Judaism,” including rabbinic Judaism. 14  According to this petihta, there are four biblical figures who come from a “blighted family,” the other two being Phineas and Uriah. 15  Rosen-Zvi, “Like a Priest Exposing His Own Wayward Mother: Jeremiah in Rabbinic Literature,” 589.

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a similar rabbinic distrust for the prophet Ezekiel, whose condemnation of Jerusalem is akin to proclaiming the abominations of one’s own mother. In these texts Ezekiel is cast in a similar light as is Jeremiah, both with regard to the harshness of the prophet’s criticisms of the people and the dislike of the prophet’s approach in rabbinic reception of the tradition. To what extent might the foregoing observations of similarities between Ezekiel and Jeremiah help mitigate the harshness of rabbinic criticism against Jeremiah, as envisioned by Rosen-Zvi? Are there other texts in which Ezekiel and Jeremiah receive similar censure? Finally, the souring of the picture of Jeremiah from pre-rabbinic to rabbinic times should be considered in light of the changing perspectives on other biblical characters. I take Elijah as an example. In a lecture to the Israeli Knesset Yair Zakovitch and Avigdor Shinan have shown that, whereas the biblical Elijah is a fiery prophet who accuses, even denounces the people of Israel and brings judgement, the Elijah of the sages is essentially a nice guy, generous and helpful, in some sense “one of us.” He can appear in various forms, arriving uncannily in the nick of time and possessing secret knowledge.16 The biblical Elijah is still well and active around 200 bce, as is attested in Sir 48:1–3. Shinan observes there are but two places in rabbinic literature where the zealous, critical Elijah resurfaces (Cant. Rab. 1.6 and Pirqe R. El. 28).17 Thus it took time for the biblical Elijah to retire. When considering the reason for the change, Shinan tentatively suggests that the bitter and disappointing experience of the Hasmonean period brought the rabbis to disdain zealousness. He mentions also, secondarily, the Bar Kokhba Revolt in this connection. It is possible that Malachi’s prophecy (3:23–24) about the return of Elijah in a conciliatory role before the day of the Lord also played a role in Elijah’s transformation. Similar to the Elijah of the sages, Shinan notes that the rabbinic figure of Samson is, unlike the biblical tough guy, a good student of Torah. Important questions follow. Since both the biblical Elijah and Jeremiah are prophets who bring harsh allegations against God’s people, why do their portrayals in rabbinic literature differ? How might the narrative and non-narrative contexts in which Elijah’s and Jeremiah’s allegations are found in the Bible 16  Yair Zakovitch and Avigdor Shinan, “Me-navi ke-esh le-metarets qushiot u-ve’ayot” (paper presented at the session Ha-hug la-miqra ba-kenesset at the Kenesset, Jerusalem, 1 December 2009). Cf. also Yair Zakovitch and Avigdor Shinan, Gam kakh lo katuv batanakh (Jerusalem: Yedioth Ahronoth, 2009), 272–85. 17  In numerous other rabbinic texts, however, especially in haggadic contexts, Elijah appears, solving puzzles in the Torah, revealing heavenly secrets about the Messiah, saving Jews from imminent danger, and so forth.

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have affected the development of their portrayal? Was the fact that Jeremiah’s allegations appear in a physical object, a scroll, uniquely associated with his name a key factor? Did Jeremiah’s close connection with the destruction of the temple in Jerusalem, the dispersion of the kingdom of Judah, and the rule of Babylon make him a bitter spice, too difficult to re-utilize in the new recipe required after 70 and 135 ce, unlike the blander Elijah? Rosen-Zvi has identified an important issue in the history of the reception of Jeremiah. And there is much to commend his thesis that the harshness of Jeremiah’s denunciations of Judah and its capital affects the rabbis’ willingness to discuss the text on these points. The present, brief response has presented questions that point to possible supplementary or, in some cases, even alternative explanations for the rabbis’ silence regarding key Jeremianic themes and for their at times very negative portrayal of Jeremiah. While Jeremiah’s extreme judgment of Judah may well have provided some of the fuel for these phenomena, other factors such as competition with Christian interpretation of the Scriptures, the destruction of and persistent absence of the temple, and multiple failed attempts at armed resistance against the Roman overlords may also have helped shape the rabbis’ take on the figure and book of Jeremiah.

Author Index page numbers in bold: “paper by” or “response by” page numbers in italics: “response to” Abate, Emma 174 Adams, Sean A. 358, 360, 362 Aernie, Jeffrey W. 546–547, 557, 559 Albertz, Rainer 35 Alexandre, Manuel, Jr. 447–448 Allison, Dale C. 501, 503, 505, 533 Amphoux, Christian-Bernard 291 Arzt-Grabner, Peter 558 Assmann, Jan 68–69 Attridge, Harold W. 521 Aune, David E. 525, 526, 527 Ayali, Meir 575 Baer, David A. 551–552 Baltzer, Klaus 552, 554 Bauckham, Richard 510 Baumgartner, Walter 16 Beale, Gregory K. 510 Bell, Catherine 248, 256–257 Ben Zvi, Ehud 96 Bergren, Theodore A. 366, 367 Berlejung, Angelika 31, 192, 226 Birnbaum, Ellen 560 Blank, Joseph 545 Blayney, Benjamin 4 Blenkinsopp, Joseph 202, 207, 209, 220 Bloch, René 431–442 Blum, Erhard 53 Bocheński, Joseph M. 265 Boda, Mark 233 Bogaert, Pierre-Maurice 249, 289 Böhm, Martina 445, 446, 449–450, 452 Borgen, Peder 451 Brady, Monica 484 Bremmer, Jan N. 462, 464–465 Bright, John 104–105 Brooke, George J. 188, 243, 307–318 Bruce, F.F. 556 Burchard, Christoph 561 Burkhardt, Helmut 417

Carlson, Laura 113, 132–134 Carroll, Robert P. 6–7, 23–24, 28, 55, 87, 122, 148, 334, 335 Charles, Robert H. 242, 340 Childs, Brevard 475 Cohen, Naomi G. 419, 422, 432, 443, 559–560 Cohen, Shaye J.D. 565 Collins, Adela Yarbro 523–531 Collins, John J. 223, 235, 236, 280–285, 331 Dalman, Gustaf 60 Daube, David 565 Davies, Philip R. 11–12 Davies, William D. 501, 503, 505, 533 Davis, Kipp 240, 294, 299, 328, 566–569 Delling, Gerhard 414, 415 Di Lella, Alexander A. 242 Dillon, John M. 451–452 Dimant, Devorah 239–240, 291, 292, 294–295, 296, 298, 321, 484, 490, 493 Di Mattei, Steven 451 DiTommaso, Lorenzo 406, 409 Doering, Lutz 322, 544–565, 566–569 Doran, Robert 508 Duensing, Hugo 355 Duhm, Bernhard 4, 7, 124, 340, 552 Ehlich, Konrad 77, 82 Eißfeldt, Otto 125 Fabry, Heinz-Josef 296 Falk, Daniel 233 Feuerstein, Rüdiger 356 Fiedler, Peter 536 Fischer, Georg 22–43, 72, 86, 166–185, 248 Fishbane, Michael 235, 575 Foreman, Benjamin 176 Frankemölle, Hubert 542, 543 Frey, Jörg 499–522, 523–531, 532–543 Friedheim, Emmanuel 413

616 Gafni, Isaiah M. 604 Gall, August F. von 236 Gaulle, Charles de 126 Gesundheit, Shimon 176 Giesebrecht, Friedrich 40 Ginzberg, Louis 573 Gladigow, Burkhard 82 Glanz, Oliver 172 Goldstein, Jonathan A. 238 Goldstein, Ronnie 10–11 Goodenough, Erwin R. 392–393, 418–419 Goodman, Martin 332, 609 Goulet, Richard 422 Greenstein, Ed 472 Groß, Walter 534 Gunneweg, Antonius H.J. 238 Hafemann, Scott J. 558, 559 Hardmeier, Christof 80 Hare, Douglas R.A. 428 Harmon, Matthew S. 551 Hartenstein, Friedhelm 70–91, 92–97, 98–102 Hartman, Louis F. 242 Hay, David M. 417 Hays, Richard B. 559, 563–564 Heckel, Ulrich 557 Heinemann, Joseph 590 Heininger, Bernd 376 Hengel, Martin 545 Henze, Matthias 330–353, 354–368, 369–372, 400, 606–607 Herrmann, Siegfried 147 Herzer, Jens 373–391, 392–397, 398–416 Hirschberger, Veronika 354–368 Holladay, William L. 23, 30, 36, 156 Holtz, Traugott 545, 552, 554, 557, 562 Hopfner, Theodor 462 Hubmann, Franz D. 176 Hyatt, Jan P. 120, 146, 148, 158, 159, 160 Janssen, Enno 128 Janzen, J. Gerald 156, 166–167, 172 Jassen, Alex 235–236 Jenni, Ernst 76 Jeremias, Joachim 429 Jeremias, Jörg 201–202 Jiang, Zhenshuai 259–262 Jong, Matthijs J. de 81

Author Index Jonge, Marinus de 414–415 Juel, Donald 523 Kaufman, Stephen 55 Keel, Othmar 59, 192 Kelly, William L. 135–144 Kerény, Karl 464 Kermode, Frank 332 Kessler, Rainer 75 Kiffiak, Jordash 608–613 Klein, Anja 319–326 Klein, Jacob 471–472 Kloner, Amos 403 Kneucker, Johan J. 248 Knibb, Michael A. 234, 235, 364–365 Knowles, Michael 501, 502 Koch, Dietrich-Alex 557, 558–559, 560, 564 Kooij, Arie van der 552 Kraft, Robert A. 355 Kratz, Reinhard G. 197–212, 213–221, 222–224, 225–227, 234, 244 Kraus, F.R. 100 Kugel, James 470–496 Kuhn, Fabian 191–196 Kümmel, Werner Georg 558 Lacocque, André 235 LaCoste, Nathalie 369–372 Lalleman, Hetty 551 Lange, Armin 172 Lasater, Phillip M. 263–267 Lee, Boyeon Briana 398–416 Leene, Henk 31 Levinson, Bernard M. 213–221 Lied, Liv Ingeborg 330–353, 354–368, 369–372, 606–607 Lietzmann, Hans 544, 558 Lippke, Florian 44–69 Lohfink, Norbert 104 Long, Burke O. 108 Lowth, William 4 Lundbom, Jack R. 23, 155, 290, 575 Luz, Ulrich 534, 535, 536, 538 Lyotard, Jean-François 590 Machinist, Peter 100 MacIntyre, Alasdair 237, 266 Maier, Christl M. 103–123, 124–131, 132–134, 135–144

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Author Index Marshall, J.T. 242 Martin, J. Louis 569 Maul, Stefan M. 81 Mayordomo, Moisés 538 McKane, William 9–10, 290 McKenzie, Don F. 254, 257 Meier, Samuel A. 78 Menken, Maarten J.J. 533 Mohammad, Zafer Tayseer 225–227 Moore, Carey A. 218, 238, 243, 245–246 Moschus, John 429 Mowinckel, Sigmund 5–6, 7, 146, 340 Najman, Hindy 203, 223, 250–251 Nati, James 327–329 Newman, Judith H. 231–252, 253–258, 259–262, 263–267 Newsom, Carol A. 493, 572–573 Nicholson, Ernest W. 112, 128, 147–148, 149, 151, 153, 155, 158, 159, 160, 189, 234 Nickelsburg, George W.E. 282, 283, 401 Nicklas, Tobias 537, 541, 545 Niederhofer, Veronika 532–543 Nielsen, Eduard 109 Nietzsche, Friedrich 203–204, 215, 223 Nissinen, Martti 81 Noth, Martin 145 Oberhuber, Karl 88 O’Connor, Kathleen 41 Panov, Lida 92–97 Petersen, David L. 266 Pietersma, Albert 175–176, 177, 249 Piovanelli, Pierluigi 376 Pohlmann, Karl-Friedrich 118, 119 Pongratz-Leisten, Beate 81–82 Popović, Mladen 253–258 Portier-Young, Anathea 236 Qimron, Elisha 294, 298, 490, 491 Reimer, David J. 142 Rengstorf, Karl Heinrich 544 Riaud, Jean 408 Riedweg, Christoph 459–460, 462, 463, 465–466, 468–469 Römer, Thomas 7, 104, 124–131, 141

Rose, Martin 109 Rosen-Zvi, Ishay 570–590, 591–607, 608–613 Rothschild, Clare K. 518 Roux, Jurie le 24 Rudolph, Wilhelm 72 Runia, David T. 417, 446–447 Rusche, Helga 513 Saldarini, Anthony 234, 238, 242 Sandnes, Karl Olav 546, 553, 555 Satran, David 427 Saunders, Marc 175–176, 177 Schaller, Berndt 414, 415 Schenker, Adrian 291 Schiffman, Lawrence H. 377 Schmid, Konrad 35, 90–91, 104, 106, 119, 122, 124–125, 176, 265–266 Schmidt, Werner H. 150 Schmitt, Carl 83–84 Schniedewind, William M. 12 Scholem, Gershom 189–190, 250 Schwartz, Seth 403 Schwemer, Anna Maria 440, 545 Sérandour, Arnaud 291 Seybold, Klaus 200–201 Sharon, Nadav 611 Sharp, Carloyn J. 114, 115, 121, 141–143 Shinan, Avigdor 612 Siegert, Folker 417 Simon, Marcel 429 Smith, Mark S. 17–18 Sommer, Benjamin D. 133, 475 Sommer, Michael 532 Steck, Odil Hannes 78–79, 89, 93–94, 234, 238, 241, 246, 354–355 Sterling, Gregory E. 417–430, 431–442, 443–469 Stern, Elsie R. 610 Stewart, Olivia 222–224 Stipp, Hermann-Josef 76, 79–80, 105–106, 107, 109, 111, 120, 121, 145–165, 166–185, 186–190, 191–196 Stöckl Ben Ezra, Daniel 540 Stoner, Ryan C. 286–288 Strugnell, John 291, 294 Stuckenbruck, Loren T. 268–279, 280–285, 286–288 Stulman, Louis 26, 28, 39–40, 111

618 Taatz, Irene 561 Tadmor, Hayim 100 Thackeray, Henry St. John 248 Thiel, Winfried 103–104, 107, 109, 117, 120, 127, 146–147, 148, 149, 150, 155, 158, 159, 160 Tigchelaar, Eibert 289–306, 307–318, 319–326, 327–329 Tobin, Thomas H. 422 Toorn, Karel van der 13–14, 79–80, 255 Torrey, Charles C. 428 Tóth, Franz 443–469, 502, 536 Tov, Emanuel 171, 248, 249, 289–290, 308 Uehlinger, Christoph 67 Ulrich, Eugene 241, 249 Uusimäki, Elisa 186–190 VanderKam, James C. 264 Van Seters, John 266 Vogel, Manuel 535 Vonach, Andreas 156, 176 Vouga, François 561 Wacholder, Ben Zion 426, 427 Wahl, Harald Martin 97 Wanke, Gunther 72, 122 Watson, Francis 313–314 Weber, Max 339

Author Index Weinfeld, Moshe 581 Weippert, Helga 105 Weippert, Manfred 81 Weiser, Artur 335 Weitzman, Steven 582 Wellhausen, Julius 202 Werline, Rodney A. 232, 233 Westermann, Claus 233 White, Justin J. 98–102 Wilk, Florian 545–546, 550, 552, 554, 557, 564 Willi-Plein, Ina 76–77, 87 Wilson, Robert R. 3–21, 22–43, 44–69 Windsor, Lionel 563 Winston, David 435 Wolff, Christian 404, 407, 419, 431, 514, 524–525, 527, 545, 558, 560, 562 Wolter, Michael 358 Wright, Benjamin G. 218–219 Wright, Edward J. 354 Yasif, Eli 572 Young, Robin D. 392–397 Youngblood, Kevin 479 Zahn, Molly M. 188 Zakovitch, Yair 55–56, 612 Zissu, Boaz 403 Zuckier, Shlomo 591–607

Ancient Sources Index A. Hebrew Bible Genesis 1 30–31 3:24 LXX 452, 458 4:1 432–433, 436 4:1–2 LXX 452, 458 26:2 441 Exodus 4:22 39 16:20 270 16:22 573 24:3–8 521 24:6–8 518 24:8 502, 514, 540 34:27–28 245 Leviticus 26 30–31 Numbers 5:23 87 6:24 586 6:25 586 21:32–33 30 33:55 585 Deuteronomy 13:17 38 17:18–20 88 18:15–22 129 18:18 38, 423 20:17 585 21:23 271 22:5 277 27:3 245 27:8 245 28 30 28:48 282 28:62 281 28:65 282 29:23–27 109 32:21 480

Joshua 6:25 585 8:22 179 Judges 2:17 270 2:19 126 1 Samuel 2:10 LXX 513, 557 2 Samuel 5:2 537 7:14 39 1 Kings 8 90, 128, 247 8:43 112 8:46–50 251–252 8:50 179 9:1–9 109 9:4–7 112 13:2 95 2 Kings 9:10 271 9:35–37 271 17 42 17:13 129 17:13–14 270 17:23 129 18–20 95 18:1–8 19 18:25 96 21:8–9 270 21:10–12 129 22–23 20, 86–87, 88, 89, 95, 130 22:3–20 19 22:11 86 22:11–20 85 23:3 88 23:36–24:6 95 24–25 95 24:2 129

620 2 Kings (continued) 24:18–25:30 29, 174–175 25 29, 42 25:22–26 29 25:26 385 Isaiah 7:14 LXX 537, 540 10:5–6 96 11:1 537, 540 13:21 530 21:9 529, 530 33:5 277 36–39 95 36:10 96 37–38 42 40:3 LXX 537, 540 42:6 LXX 548–556 44 31 49:1 41, 512 49:1 LXX 548–556 49:5 512 49:5 LXX 548–556 49:6 41 49:6 LXX 548–556 56:7 501 60:6 31 65:12 270 66:4 270 Jeremiah 1 59, 170–171 1:1 14, 17, 59, 168, 227, 584–585, 586 1:1–2 24, 168 1:2 168 1:2–3 25 1:4–10 129 1:5 41, 587 1:5–8 512 1:5 LXX 548–556 1:6 169 1:7 423 1:9 38, 41 1:10 227, 551, 556 1:11–12 61 1:11–16 41 1:17–18 486, 495 1:18 169

Ancient Sources Index 2–5 4 2–6 10 2–10 207 2:2 268 2:6 27 2:13 527 2:18 27 2:22 576 2:36–37 27 3:1–5 10 3:3 268, 588 3:4 LXX 433, 436, 463, 464, 467 3:6–11 10 3:8 577 3:12–13 10 3:14–19 302 3:18 127 3:22 600 4:1 600 4:14 576 4:19 588 4:19–22 16–17 4:23–26 30 4:30 588 5:19 107–108 5:20–29 268, 272 5:22 273, 274, 286–287 5:23 268 5:24–25 268 6:6 574 6:16 LXX 501 6:20 31 6:22 268 6:24–25 17 7:1–15 127–128, 129 7:1–8:3 110–115 7:3–8 113, 136–144 7:4 580 7:11 501, 580, 608–609 7:16 293, 485, 491, 592 7:22 580 7:25–26 270, 286, 501 7:29 478 7:34 244 8:1–2 271, 286 8:8 20 8:18–23 17 8:18–9:17 275

621

Ancient Sources Index 8:22 28 8:22–23 338 8:23 477, 482 8:23 LXX 275 9:1 275, 280, 577 9:1–2 17 9:2 275 9:10 110 9:11 37 9:11–12 575 9:11–13 110, 597–598 9:11–15 107–108 9:14 527 9:16 110 9:22–23 513 9:22–23 LXX 557–558 9:23 513 9:25 581 10:2 582 10:2–3 268 10:2–15 199 10:3–4 31 10:5 268 10:11 198 10:19–21 17 10:23–25 17 10:25 583 11–20 4 11:14 293, 485 11:18 18 11:18–20 17 11:18–23 16–18 11:19 18, 525 11:20 18, 524, 574 11:21 17 11:21–23 18 12:1 18, 577 12:1–2 18 12:1–6 16–18 12:3 18 12:3–4 18 12:5–6 18 12:7–13 17 13 207 13:16 587 13:17 478 13:22 31 13:23 591

13:26 31 14:3 573 14:9 577 14:11–12 485, 525–526 14:13–16 18 14:14 501 14:16 271 14:19 28 15:2 528, 586 15:9 589 15:10 574 15:10–14 18 15:15 18 15:15–21 16–18 15:16 41, 574 15:16–18 18 15:19–21 18 15:20 486, 495 16 207 16:10–12 198 16:10–13 107–108 16:10–15 126–127 16:11 109 16:13 109, 198–199 16:14–15 30 17:10 524 17:11 276, 280 17:12 591 17:13 527 17:14 18 17:14–18 16–18 17:15 18 17:16 18 17:18 18 17:19–27 112 17:23 270 18 59, 60, 207 18:3–6 LXX 563–564 18:18–23 16–18 18:19 18 18:20 18 18:21 574 18:21–22 18 19 59, 61, 207 19:15 270 20:4 27 20:7 18 20:7–13 16–18, 20

622 Jeremiah (continued) 20:9 577 20:10 18, 574 20:11–12 18 20:12 574 20:13 18 20:14 572, 588 21:1–10 118–120, 119, 120 21:2 85 21:9 600 21:11–12 117 22:1–5 112, 115–118, 116 22:3 277 22:8–9 107–108, 109 22:10 478 22:13 274–275, 276, 280 22:13–17 117 22:30 600 23:2 268 23:5–6 299 23:6–9 302 23:7 126 23:7–8 30 23:15 527 23:18 89 23:22 89 23:29 570–571 24 158–159, 592 24:1–10 118, 120–122 24:5–7 389, 397 24:6–7 302 24:8–10 155 25:1 25 25:11 506 25:11–12 3, 268 25:27–29 611 25:31 268 25:33 271, 286 26 18–19, 159–163, 193, 194–196 26–29 4 26:2–25 LXX 437 26:3 90 26:17–19 143 26:17 LXX 177 26:18 31, 41, 578 26:19 154 26:20–23 143 26:21 LXX 437

Ancient Sources Index 27 59, 60 27:8–9 84–85 27:12 244, 442 27:15 501 27:21–22 601–602 27:22 582–583 28:3 387 28:6 387 29 246 29:1–23 489 29:4–7 582–583, 603 29:5 271 29:10 3, 268, 506 29:11–14 90 29:15–23 155 29:16–20 155–157, 182–184, 185, 193–194 29:22 586 30–31 4 30:10 297, 578 30:12 31 30:17 28, 599 30:18 38 31:9 39 31:15 268, 502, 537, 539 31:26 273 31:31 515, 558–559, 580 31:31–34 299–300, 325, 502, 506, 517, 518 31:32–34 519 31:33 516, 558–559 31:33–34 268 31:35–36 268 31:37 28 32 487 32–45 4 32:1 25 32:12 487 32:12–16 333 32:40 245, 246 33:7–8 493 33:20–21 594 33:25–26 594 33:26 28 34:4–8 268 35:1 25 36 13, 19–20, 70–81, 83–84, 86–91, 95, 130 36:1 74 36:1–8 73 36:2 71, 92–93

623

Ancient Sources Index 36:2–25 87 36:3 74, 90 36:4 71, 74 36:5 74 36:6 74, 76 36:7 74, 90 36:8 76 36:9 74 36:9–26 73, 75–76 36:10 75, 76 36:12 75 36:13 76 36:14 76, 77 36:16 86 36:19 75 36:21 75 36:24 75, 86 36:24–25 87 36:25 75 36:26 73, 75 36:27–32 73 36:29 71 36:30 89, 90 36:32 71–72, 74, 76, 90–91, 93, 100, 101 37–40 10 37–43 149 37:2 154 37:3 119 37:3–10 85 37:3–43:7 119, 148, 151–152 38:7–13 380, 389 38:7 LXX 504 38:15 LXX 532–543, 539, 540, 541 38:26 LXX 273 38:31–34 LXX 518, 521 38:31 LXX 515, 517, 539, 558–559 38:33 LXX 516, 558–559 38:34 LXX 539, 541 39:14 503 39:16–18 389 40–44 25 40:1 503 40:1–6 385 40:2–3 154 40:2–6 490 40:4 586 40:7–43:7 29 40:16 503

42:1–43:7 425 42:7–22 179 42:10–18 148–154, 179–181, 184–185 42:19–22 150 43:1–3 150 43:3 334 43:4 154 43:5–7 385 43:6–7 334 43:7 154 43:8–9 428 43:8–10 439 43:8–44:30 29, 425 44 152, 181–182, 184–185, 193, 195–196 44:17 297 44:25 29 45 334–335 45:1 25 45:1–5 249 46 27 46:2–26 437 46:17 177 46:27 297 48:29–31 302 49:9 31 49:14–16 31 49:15–19 LXX 437 49:19 LXX 441 49:34–39 526 50–51 511 51:6 530 51:7 530 51:7–8 529 51:9 530 51:13–14 LXX 437 51:31–35 LXX 335 51:37 530 51:45 530 51:58 31 51:64 579 52 25, 29, 95, 130, 174–175 52:1–3 178 52:6–7 592 52:13 28 52:13–14 170 52:17 170 52:21–23 170 52:31–34 29

624 Ezekiel 1 59, 62 1:3 14, 584 2:8–3:3 41 8 59 8:11 65 8:20 59 11:19 516 20:8 270 24:25–27 42 33:21–22 42 36 300 36:26–27 516, 558–559 37:1–14 411 37:16 87 40–48 42 47:1–12 527 Hosea 11:1 537, 540 Joel 2:21–25 397 Amos 1:1 14 3:6 66 5:15 90 7:1–6 59 7:7–9 66 8:1–3 59 8:11 297 Obadiah 1–5 31 Jonah 1:4–16 273 3–4 90 Micah 3:10 274 3:12 31, 41, 578 5:1 537, 540 5:3 537, 540 Nahum 3:5 31 3:8–10 295, 297, 305–306 3:19 31

Ancient Sources Index Habakkuk 2:13 31 Zechariah 1:12–17 401 11:12–13 505 11:13 504 Malachi 3:23–24 612 Psalms 13:2 275 25:17 275 25:19–20 275 51 300 55:2–7 275 79:3 271 102:1–10 275 106:23–30 LXX 273 107:23–30 273 143:1–12 275 Job 3:3 572 Proverbs 1:23 584 2:9 277 3:3 558–559 6:9 273 Ecclesiastes 5:12 273 7:10 472 Lamentations 1:1 LXX 3, 478–479 1:2 478 1:4 481–482 2:18 275 3:1 470–472, 492 3:6 586 3:18–20 473 3:21–25 473 3:27–28 472 3:34–36 473 3:37–40 473 3:42 578 3:44–50 492

625

Ancient Sources Index 3:49 275 5:5–6 488 5:8 489 5:13–14 489 Daniel 9 235–237 9:2 287 9:4–19 260, 261 9:4–20 241 9:16 242 9:24 506 9:24–27 401 Ezra 1:1 3 7:6 603 Nehemiah 8–9 90 9:26–27 482 1 Chronicles 3:17 601 29 247 2 Chronicles 24:20–22 501 35:25 3, 293, 478 36:11–23 476–477 36:12 4 36:14–17 481–482 36:21 297 36:22 3 36:22–23 401 B. Ancient Near Eastern and Epigraphic Texts Esarhaddon’s Succession Treaty 83, 88, 94, 96, 101 Lachish Ostraca 210 Rassam Cylinder 96, 109 Ugaritic Baal Cycle 14 Verse Account of Nabonidus 99–100

C. Deuterocanonical Works and Septuagint Tobit 1:17–18 271 2:3–4 271 2:7 271 4:3–4 271 6:14 271 12:12–13 271 14:10 271 Wisdom of Solomon 14:1–4 273 Sirach 43:24 273 48:1–3 612 49:6 481 49:7 480, 507, 553, 567 50:26 480 Baruch 1:1–14 238–240 1:4 490 1:8 261 1:14 261–262 1:14–3:8 241 1:15–22 356–357 1:15–3:8 240–243 1:21 270 2:1–10 358–359 2:2–3 243 2:13 242 2:16 262 2:20–23 243, 244, 259 2:24 243 2:26 262 2:29–35 243, 244–245, 259–260 2:30–34 360–361 3:1–8 245–247, 260 3:9–4:4 361–362 3:24–25 262 4:8–19 362–363 4:30–5:9 363–364 Epistle of Jeremiah 1–6 197 30 198 71 198

626 1 Maccabees 7:17 271 2 Maccabees 1:18–36 507 2:1 507 2:1–3 489 2:1–10 426 2:4 507 2:4–8 401, 441 5:8–10 271 15:12–16 401, 611 15:13–15 508 D. Old Testament Pseudepigrapha Ascension of Isaiah 4:21–22 475–476 2 Baruch 2:1 507 2:2 486 3:1–2 588 5:5–6 483 6:3–10 387 6:7–10 427 9:10 483 10:1–5 489 10:4–5 483 35:2 275, 372 35:2–5 337–338 45:1–2 342 85:1–2 486 85:3 390 4 Baruch (Paraleipomena Jeremiou) 495 1:1–2 487 1:1–3 507 2:5 483 2:10 483 3:7–20 427 3:15–16 489 3:19 483 4:6 483 4:7 483 4:11 483 5–6 389, 397

Ancient Sources Index 5:34 408–410, 416 6:3–7 410–412, 416 6:20–7:22 489 7:15 483 7:22 483 7:23–29 405 7:24–34 489 7:36 483 8:9 412–415, 416 9:5 412–415, 416 9:8–9 483 9:21–32 439 1 Enoch 268–279 91:12 276–277 91:13 276 94:6–7 274, 280 94:6–11 275 95:1 275–276, 280 95:2 275 96:5 275 97:8 276, 280 98:2 277 98:9 270, 272, 286 98:9–99:2 277, 284 98:11 270 98:13 270–271, 275, 286 99:2 271, 282, 286 99:11–16 274 99:13 275 99:15 275 100:5 272–273, 284 100:5–6 389 100:7 275 100:8 277 101:4–6 273–274, 286–287 102:9–15 275 103:9–15 277–278, 281–282, 284 104:3 275 4 Ezra 3:29–30 275 10:19–23 482–483 10:43–44 590 5 Ezra 1:4–11 357 1:24–27 359 1:35–37 359–360

627

Ancient Sources Index 2:2–4 364 2:5–7 365 2:10 365 2:15 365 2:18 509 2:26 365 2:40 365 Jubilees 1 300 1:10–12 298 23:19 298 23:23 271 23:24 298 Liber antiquitatum biblicarum (Pseudo-Philo) 51:6 568 Lives of the Prophets 1–4 428 2–3 428 2–4 428 2.1–3 438–439 2.4 440 2.5 439–440 2.8–9 440 2.15 508 4 428 5–6 429 6 428 9–15 427 21 508 Odes of Solomon 3:10 557 Testament of Job 39:8 271 E. Dead Sea Scrolls CD (Damascus Document) 299, 325, 329, 580–581, 597 1QHa (Hodayot) 273, 568 1QM (Milḥamah) 271 1QpHab 325 1QS (Serek Hayaḥad) 206

2Q13 (Jer) 301 4Q70 (Jera) 171, 301 4Q71 (Jerb) 171–172, 192, 289–291, 301 4Q72 (Jerc) 171, 301 4Q72a (Jerd) 289–291, 301, 302–303 4Q72b (Jere) 301 4Q169 (pNah) 213 4Q176 (Tanḥ) 271 4Q179 (apocrLam A) 481 4Q339 (List of False Prophets ar) 172 4Q374 (Exod/Conq. Trad.) 492–493 4Q383 (apocrJer A) 294, 483–484 4Q384 (papApocrJer B?) 298, 328 4Q385a (apocrJer Ca) 292–293, 294–297, 303–304, 305–306, 329, 490–491, 507 4Q387 (apocrJer Cb) 297, 298 4Q389 (apocrJer Cd) 239–240, 293, 294, 304, 490 4Q390 (apocrJer E) 298, 299, 300, 324 4Q463 (Narrative D) 299 4Q470 (Text Mentioning Zedekiah) 299, 300, 325 4Q492 (Mb) 271 4Q504 (DibHama) 246 6Q12 (apocrProphecy) 299 7Q2 (papEpJer gr) 198 11Q5 (Psa) 247 F. Ancient Jewish Writers Philo De agricultura 273 De cherubim 273, 392–393, 418, 431–469 De confusione linguarum 421, 431–432, 468 De fuga et inventione 420, 431, 432, 461, 468 De gigantibus 465 De migratione Abrahami 273, 438 De opificio mundi 426, 468 De plantatione 420, 421 De sacrificiis Abelis et Caini 462 De somniis 420, 421, 466, 468 De specialibus legibus 271, 434 De virtutibus 469 De vita Mosis 423, 438, 441 In Flaccum 436 Legatio ad Gaium 436 Legum allegoriae 435, 450, 452, 467 Quaestiones et solutiones in Genesin 421, 441

628 Josephus Antiquitates judaicae 427, 440, 507, 560, 565 Bellum judaicum 271, 442, 565, 582 Contra Apionem 440, 476 G. New Testament Matthew 1:21 504, 541 1:21–23 537 1:21–3:3 537–538 1:23 537, 540, 541 2:6 537, 540 2:15 503, 534, 537, 540 2:17–18 500, 502–503, 505 2:18 532–543, 537, 540, 541 2:19 534 2:19–3:3 540 2:23 537, 540 3:3 537 7:22 501 8:21 271 11:29–30 501 16:14 500, 505, 509 21:13 501 23:34–35 501 26:15 504 26:28 502, 540, 541 27:9–10 500, 504 28:18–20 509 28:20 537 Mark 11:12–14 397 11:17 609 14:24 515 Luke 9:59 271 13:6–9 397 Romans 1:1–2 544 9:20–21 563–564 1 Corinthians 1:26–31 513 1:31 512–513, 557

Ancient Sources Index 11:23 515 11:25 514, 515 2 Corinthians 3:2–6 558–559 3:6 514, 516 3:7 517 3:13 517 10:8 551, 556–557 10:17 512–513, 514, 557–558 10:18 557–558 13:10 551, 556–557 Galatians 1:10 568 1:13–2:1 568–569 1:15–16 512, 547–556 4:24 516 Hebrews 7:1–10:18 518 8:8–12 518 9:1–10:10 518 9:16–17 519 9:20 521 10:16–17 518, 520 13:22 518 Revelation 2:18–29 524 2:20 524 2:23 524 5:6 525 6:8 525–526 7:2–3 526 7:17 526–527 8:10–11 527 11:9 271 14:8 528 17–18 511, 529–531 18:4 512 22:1 527 H. Rabbinic Works Mishnah m. Megillah 579 m. Nedarim 581, 595

629

Ancient Sources Index m. Taʿanit 583, 592 m. Yoma 571, 592 Tosefta t. Megillah 579, 611 t. Soṭah 573, 596 t. Sukkah 582 Palestinian Talmud y. Berakot 273, 577, 579 y. Taʿanit 375, 389, 592 Babylonian Talmud b. Baba Batra 584, 606 b. Berakot 571, 579 b. ʿErubin 592 b. Ketubbot 583, 602 b. Megillah 603, 605 b. Menaḥot 606 b. Moʿed Qaṭan 573 b. Pesaḥim 595 b. Qiddušin 571 b. Roš Haššanah 599 b. Šabbat 591 b. Sanhedrin 571, 573, 600–601 b. Sukkah 599 b. Taʿanit 389, 578, 592 b. Yoma 577 Midrashim and Minor Tractates Mekilta R. Ishmael Pisha 578 Mekilta R. Ishmael Shirta 571 Mekilta R. Ishmael va-yassa 573

Midrash Aggada 439 Pesiqta de Rab Kahana 487–488, 584–587, 585, 586, 587, 606, 611 Pesiqta Rabbati 488, 490, 587–590 Petiḥta 571 Rabbah Genesis 572 Rabbah Leviticus 573 Sipra Be-Ḥukkotai 596 Sipre Deuteronomy 578 Sipre Numeri 571, 573 Sipre Zuṭa 604 Yalquṭ Shimʿoni 488 I. Early Christian Writings and GrecoRoman Literature Cassius Dio, Historia Romana 376 Cicero 448 1 Clement, 13:1 514 Coptic Jeremiah Apocryphon 409–410, 487, 493–494 Eusebius, Praeparatio evangelica 425, 426, 427, 436, 507 Heraclitus, Homeric Problems 450 Hippolytus, Refutatio omnium haeresium 464 Justin, Dialogus cum Tryphone 582 Lucian, Alexander (Pseudomantis) 460–461 Plato, Gorgias 435 Plutarch, Demetrius 462 Proclus, Timaeus Commentary 452 Rhetorica ad Herennium 448–449

Subject Index Ahaz (king of Judah) 95 Akiva, Rabbi 375 Alexander Polyhistor (Roman scholar) 426 Alexander the Great 440 Alexandrian text tradition 155–157, 192–194. See also texts almond tree (illustration) 61 Alternativ-Predigt 110–118, 122, 139, 142, 143 amulets 44–47, 63 Apocryphon of Jeremiah 291, 292, 298, 303–304, 319, 326. See also JeremiahBaruch tradition; Ancient Sources Index, E (627); Ancient Sources Index, I (629) Artapanus (Jewish author) 424 aspective rendering and iconography 52–53 authenticity of prophetic writings 223–224 author, in relation to literary tradition 213–221 authorship and authority 474–476 Babylon code name for 528–529, 531 as motif 27–28, 35 oracles against 509–512 Babylonian exile, in rabbinic literature 601–604 Bar Kokhba, Simon 375 Baruch (scribe) historicity of 209–212 in Jeremiah 333–336 location of 348–349 in rabbinic literature 604–607 Baruch, textual traditions 231–232. See also Jeremiah-Baruch tradition Baruch (book) 237–238, 238–243, 354–368. See also Ancient Sources Index, C (625) 2 Baruch (Syriac Apocalypse) 330–353, 398, 399–402, 416. See also Ancient Sources Index, D (626) 4 Baruch (Paraleipomena Jeremiou)  373–391, 392–397, 398, 402–415, 416. See also Ancient Sources Index, D (626) burials, associations with lack of 271

Cleodamus Malchus (Jewish author) 424–425 composition criticism 52–53, 55 confessional prayer 232–236, 240–243, 247, 251–252, 265 cooking pot (illustration) 60 covenant, significance of 594–597 covenant theology 532–543. See also “new covenant” theme Deutero-Jeremianic style vs. Deuteronomistic redaction 123, 126–127, 132, 134 Deutero-Jeremianic texts. See also Deuteronomistic influence and Deuteronomistic phraseology  139–141, 153–154, 164 divergence among 141–144 history of research 103–107 and other Jeremiah traditions 137–139 pro-Golah redaction 118–122, 123, 124, 141–142 rhetorical genres in 107–118 summary 122–123 Deuteronomistic, vagueness of term 139–140 Deuteronomistic diction and formulaic language 145–165, 178–185, 186–190, 191–193, 196 Deuteronomistic History, characteristics of 145 Deuteronomistic influence 8–9, 10, 15–16, 19, 20–21, 29, 341–342. See also Deutero-Jeremianic texts Deuteronomistic theology, lacking in Jeremiah 151–153 Deuteronomists 128 diaspora. See Jewish diaspora divination and prophetic oracles 81–83 doublets in Jeremiah 26–27 editing, in antiquity 44–48, 57 Egypt, as motif 27, 28, 35 Egyptian deities (illustration) 63 Elijah the prophet 612

Subject Index Epistle of Baruch 330–331, 343–351. See also Jeremiah-Baruch tradition; Ancient Sources Index, D (626) Epistle of Enoch 268–279, 280–285, 286–288. See also Ancient Sources Index, D (626) Epistle of Jeremiah 197–202, 205, 217–219, 347–348. See also Jeremiah-Baruch tradition; Ancient Sources Index, C (625) Eupolemus (Jewish historian) 426, 507 exegesis, innerbiblical vs. postbiblical  319–320, 326 exile, in rabbinic literature 599–604. See also First Temple, destruction of; Jewish diaspora exilic and postexilic texts 125 Ezekiel and Jeremiah 611–612 5 Ezra and Baruch (book) 354–368. See also Ancient Sources Index, C (625); Ancient Sources Index, D (626–627) First Temple, destruction of 597–598. See also exile, in rabbinic literature Flavius Josephus. See Josephus Fortschreibung. See also rewriting, process of Epistle of Jeremiah as 205 as interpretation 13–14, 54–55 manuscript evidence of 255 process of 9–10, 11, 33–34, 35 and redaction 49–57, 124 Greek version of Jeremiah 166–178, 289, 290, 519–520 heavenly vault (illustration) 62 Hebrew Vorlage underlying Jer LXX 177–178 Hezekiah (king of Judah) 95 hierophant, Jeremiah/Moses as 395, 434, 464–467 Homer (Greek author) 203–204, 215, 450 Huldah the prophetess 130 iconography and aspective rendering 52–53 ideology and context 133–134 images and texts 68–69 incense burning (illustration) 65 inscriptions, genres of 50 Isaiah (book) 31, 475. See also Ancient Sources Index, A (620)

631 Jehoiakim (king of Judah) 94, 95, 100 Jeremiah (book). See also Jeremiah (prophet); Ancient Sources Index, A (620–623) and Baruch (book) 231–252 and 2 Baruch 336–342 canonicity of 313–315 characteristics of 39–40 and Daniel (book) 231–252 end of 231, 247–248, 253 epigraphic data 209–211 genesis of 33–37 history of research 145–148 internal cohesion 24–28, 35 intertextual relationships 29–33, 36 as meta-text 38–39 as patchwork 39–40 in Philo’s works 417–430, 431–442, 443–469 progressions in 35–36 in rabbinic literature 570–590 in Revelation 509–512, 523–531 sources in 5–6, 7, 146 theological message 43 Jeremiah (prophet). See also Jeremiah (book) as author of Lamentations 476–480 in 2 Baruch 398, 399–402, 416 in 4 Baruch 398, 402–415, 416 and eschatological restauration 506–509 with exiles to Babylon 489–490, 507 and Ezekiel 611–612 historical and literary figure 40–41, 210–212, 215–217, 221 in Judean Desert texts 292–294 lamenting in Egypt 491–492 legends surrounding 426–429 as letter writer 560–562 in Matthew 500–509 and Moses 20, 38, 129, 293, 300, 418, 422–430, 508 as mystagogue 418–419 as new Moses 404–407 parting advice of 495–496 and Paul the apostle 563, 566–569 person and conception 225–227 portrayed 203–209 as priest 404–407 as weeping prophet 482–485 Jeremiah Apocalypse 296–297. See also Jeremiah-Baruch tradition

632 Jeremiah-Baruch tradition 347–348, 560–562. See also Apocryphon of Jeremiah; Baruch, textual traditions; Epistle of Baruch; Epistle of Jeremiah; Jeremiah Apocalypse; Jeremianic traditions Jeremiah fragments, private collections of 289, 302 Jeremiah redivivus, Josephus as 441–442, 582 Jeremiah’s Scriptures, in Dead Sea Scrolls 289–306 Jeremiah’s theology, in rabbinic literature 591–607 Jeremiah the Lachrymose 482–485 Jeremianic Collection 294–297, 327–328 Jeremianic traditions. See also JeremiahBaruch tradition and 4 Baruch 373–391 in Epistle of Enoch 268–279, 286–288 growth of 299–300 and Jewish diaspora 373–391 in New Testament 499–522 in Pauline Letters 512–517 Jerusalem destruction of 42–43, 531 earthly and heavenly 407–415 Jerusalem crisis 402–404 Jewish diaspora 373–391, 432, 436–441. See also exile, in rabbinic literature Johanan ben Zakkai, Rabbi 375 Josephus 258, 441–442, 582. See also Ancient Sources Index, F (628) Josiah (king of Judah) 94, 95 Judean Desert manuscripts and fragments of Jeremiah 289–291, 301–302 Lamentations (book) 476–480, 488–492. See also Ancient Sources Index, A (624–625) laments of Jeremiah 16–18 legends surrounding Jeremiah 426–429 Letter of Ieremias. See Epistle of Jeremiah letter writers, Jeremiah and Paul as 560–562. See also Pauline Letters, Jeremianic traditions in literacy and aurality 257–258 literary development of Jeremiah 310–313

Subject Index literary genres 49–50, 52, 54 loyalty oath 83, 84, 88–89, 100–102 LXX. See Greek version of Jeremiah masore 345 Masoretic Sondergut 156–157 Matthew’s Gospel 532–543. See also Ancient Sources Index, G (628) midrash, characteristics of 570–571 mise en abyme 214 Moses and Jeremiah 20, 38, 129, 293, 300, 418, 422–430, 508 mystagogue, Jeremiah as 418–419 Nabonidus (king of Babylon) 99–100 Neriah (Baruch’s father) 209–210 “new covenant” theme 300, 325, 514–522, 596–597, 612. See also covenant theology New Testament scholarship 215–216 parenetic texts 153–154, 164, 186–187, 191. See also texts Pauline Letters, Jeremianic traditions in  512–517. See also letter writers, Jeremiah and Paul as Paul the apostle 215–216, 222, 544–565, 560–562, 566–569 Philo of Alexandria. See also Ancient Sources Index, F (627) and 4 Baruch 392–394 citation formulae in 418, 419–422 Jeremiah in 417–430, 431–442, 443–469 Moses and Jeremiah in 418, 422–430 Moses in 421 mystery terminology 459–468 prayer. See confessional prayer prophecy 76–79, 102, 129, 217 prophetic oracles and divination 81–83 prophetic traditions and Paul the apostle 544–565 prose and poetry 26, 55 Psalms (book) 475–476. See also Ancient Sources Index, A (624) Pseudo-Eupolemus (Samaritan author) 425 Pseudo-Hecataeus (Jewish author) 425

633

Subject Index question-answer scheme 28, 35, 104, 107–110, 122 Qumran. See also Ancient Sources Index, E (627) site of 258 rabbinic literature. See also Ancient Sources Index, H (628–629) on Jeremiah 570–590 Jeremiah’s theology in 591–607 Jeremianic themes neglected in 608–613 Rabshakeh (Assyrian messenger) 96–97 redaction history 46–48, 49–57 repetitions, forms of 26–27 rereading, process of. See Fortschreibung Revelation (book) 509–512, 523–531. See also Ancient Sources Index, G (628) rewriting, process of 187–188. See also Fortschreibung righteous sufferer motif 471–473 ritualization and textualization 256 rolling corpus, model of 9–10, 35, 55, 124 royal power, criticism of 98–100 Santa Maria della Salute (basilica in Venice) 307, 315 scribal activity 34–35 scribal culture 11–16, 57, 70–71, 255–256, 258 scribes loyalties of 79–80, 98–100 at Ugarit 14, 15

Second Temple 260–261 Semitic Vorlage underlying Epistle of Jeremiah 219 Septuagint. See Greek version of Jeremiah Seriah (Baruch’s brother) 209–210 seventy-year motif 297, 299, 323–325 Shaphan family (scribal group) 15, 19, 20 sleep metaphor 272–273 temple. See First Temple, destruction of; Second Temple Temple Sermon 127–128 texts. See also Alexandrian text tradition; parenetic texts authority of 263–267 from exilic and postexilic era 125 and images 68–69 pluriformity and fluidity of 254–255, 257 production and transmission of 255–257 textual development. See Fortschreibung Torah of Moses 474–475 Torah study, importance of 594–597 Toraparänese 293, 322 Ugarit, scribes at 14, 15 water carafe (illustration) 61 whore metaphor 529–530 yoke (illustration) 60